I could place Uri Pylori and Edelman now. Edelman was late twenties, gaunt and pale. His eyes danced around like he was looking for his next fix. Pylori had bad teeth and had worn the same short-sleeve black T-shirt for a decade, but he was good with numbers. It was best to keep a step back from his breath.
Mondari showed us a worried text from Pylori. Screenshots not working anymore. Hang up calls last night. Two guys in a car outside on the street. Freaking out!
At three a.m. Mondari asked, “Can I go home?”
“We may need to move you someplace safer.”
“I’m okay tonight.”
I should have listened to my instincts. I should have known.
31
July 9th, 5:00 a.m.
Before dawn, Beatty sat on the cool steel of the metal flight-trailer steps and watched mechanics disassemble the last drone. Lights strung from the aluminum struts of the drone hangar illuminated enough for him to see their progress. The wings came off and were strapped to side brackets inside the truck. The fuselage was hoisted and slid into a custom cradle. All three drones the same way, one truck for each. When the trucks left, he watched their lights make the sweeping climb up and over the rock hills.
Then it was quiet and there were still stars back over the mountains behind. To the east the sky lightened. To his left he saw the headlights of Eddie’s pickup, two pinpricks of light way out there but coming this way. Funny how he’d worried that if he were out here for months he’d go stir-crazy. It turned out so different. Now he wanted to stay out in the open desert and not have to hear his name on TV or have a waitress refuse to seat him, like yesterday.
When he checked again, Eddie’s headlights were much closer. Eddie liked fresh coffee, so what the fuck, let’s make Eddie some coffee. Beatty stood. He stretched, then went up the remaining stairs into the flight trailer. As the coffee brewed he slid onto his chair in front of the computer. He checked the audio file. Ready to go. A few minutes later Eddie rolled up, parked, and came through the door ready to fight.
“Did you talk to your FBI friend like I told you to?”
“Not yet. Want coffee? I just made it for you.”
“You’re going down if you don’t back me on this. I told the FBI you looked at the drone pilot résumés and said which ones to hire. It’ll be your word against mine.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
“Fuck your coffee.”
“You sure?”
“You listen to me.”
Beatty listened as he poured the coffee down the sink. Eddie said, “The only reason the Feds are on me is you. They’re in my bank accounts, everything. You and your problems are fucking up my life, so you’re going to do what I say or I tell them all kinds of shit. I’ll make it up as I go. You made threats against the air force. Maybe it was drunk talk or you were high, but what you said scared me. They’re looking for anything on you. They keep pushing with questions, and I’m keeping them hungry, okay. They know I want to deal. But what I really want is to make a deal with you. Everything about the drone pilots, anything to do with drones, that’s you. I’ve got papers you signed that you vetted them.”
“What’s wrong with the drone pilots, Eddie?”
“Nothing is wrong. They’re all good, but I need the FBI off my back. I need everything to do with you out of my life. I’m going to give you money. Ten thousand dollars and until noon today to give me an answer.”
“And what happens when I don’t?”
“You don’t want to know. It’ll be bad. It’ll be really bad. It’ll be all the things you talked about doing to get even with the air force. I will fuck you up for life. Or you do the smart thing and take some money and do what I say. You’re going to need the money. You call me before noon or—”
“Shut the door on your way out, Eddie.”
Eddie shut it hard, and Beatty closed the audio file. He e-mailed the recording to Grale, then just sat there.
32
When I stopped by the hospital, Julia was asleep. I left her a note and drove to the office. I had access to all terrorism databases but also kept my own list of bomb makers. On my list you needed to be active within the past five years.
Some built bombs in primitive mud-walled buildings high in remote mountains. One had holed up for years on the twenty-seventh floor of a Bangkok high-rise. Another worked from an abandoned warehouse in Spain. Some were hermitic. Some had relatives who helped assemble the parts. A few visited the scene of their work to try to figure out how to do it better. Many dealt through third parties or through a friend or family member. Most didn’t travel, or if they did, didn’t go far, and those who traveled to another country were usually pros.