Private L.A. (Private 6)

“Noticed that,” I said, putting his tray on the table.

Del Rio’s attention flickered past the food, past me, focused on the television hanging from the ceiling. “Turn that up,” he said. “It’s the pier.”

Picking up the remote, I turned off the mute. A gratingly familiar voice filled the room, a report by none other than Bobbie Newton, who was standing near the entrance to the Huntington Beach Pier.

“As the pier opens for the first time since the bombing, police, local businesspeople, and residents are cautiously optimistic,” she intoned. “It was a sentiment echoed early this morning by both Mayor Wills and Chief Fescoe.”

The screen cut to the mayor and chief hurrying into City Hall. Wills slowed, said, “There hasn’t been an attack by No Prisoners in nearly thirty-six hours, and no contact from him whatsoever. We cautiously hope things stay that way.”

The screen jumped to Fescoe, who said, “We’re still in full pursuit of this maniac, but it is possible he’s come to his senses, realized we will catch him, and decided to end the random violence and this obscene extortion scheme before it goes any further.”

Chapter 72

IN THE GARAGE in the City of Commerce, Cobb and the others were watching the same television coverage, listening to the same remarks by Mayor Wills and Chief Fescoe.

“Close enough,” Cobb said, clapping his hand against his thigh. “No Prisoners is back in action. You’re up, Mr. Johnson.”

The wiry African-American cranked his head around, cracking his neck. “Have you developed a scene of opportunity, Mr. Cobb?”

“We have,” Cobb said. “It will take nerves of steel to take full advantage of the situation.”

“Luckily I’ve got them,” Johnson said.

Cobb nodded. It was true. Johnson had been with him longer than any of the other men. He was not creative or impulsive like Hernandez. He wasn’t clever with his hands like Nickerson, or a tech genius like Watson, or a savvy Web guy like Kelleher. But Johnson did have nerves, no, balls of steel. The crazier the situation, the tighter he stuck to the plan, to the objective. Bullets could be flying. People could be dying all around him in the chaos of war, but Johnson just kept plowing forward.

“Noon,” Cobb told Johnson. “Lunchtime.”

“That’ll shake them up,” Hernandez said. “Shock ’em out of the mundane.”

“Exactly, Mr. Hernandez,” Cobb said. “And when they’re good and shocked, we’ll turn the tables on them one last time and take them for every penny we can get.”

“I like that idea, Mr. Cobb,” Hernandez said.

“Me too,” Johnson said. “A lot. I’m thinking a place in Tahiti, you know?”

“Don’t let yourself start dreaming of how you’ll spend it all, gentlemen,” Cobb cautioned. “We have to be totally focused until the deed is done. Then you may dream as big as you want.”

“Hoorah,” Johnson said softly. “Hoo-fucking-rah.”

Cobb looked at Nickerson. “You’ll brief him?”

“My pleasure, Mr. Cobb,” Nickerson said, handing an iPad to Johnson. “You’ll see the floor plan, as well as photographs I shot in there yesterday. I’ve identified suggested entrances, exits. This should be a target-rich environment if there ever was one.”

Watson continued to coach Johnson through the particulars of his attack plan, but Cobb’s mind was already pushing on. He looked at Watson, who was staring as he had been for hours at the screen of an iPad.

“Where are we, Mr. Watson?” Cobb asked. “Will you be ready?”

Watson stroked his pale goat’s beard, looked up, nodded. “All they have to do is make the connection and it should be a short crawl back up the data stream to the open digital vault.”

“Traceability on their end?” Cobb asked.

“Virtually nil,” Watson said. “They’d have to be looking for us to counterattack in the virtual world, and what’s the chance of that?”

“None, Mr. Watson,” Cobb said happily. “Their attention will be completely diverted. Outstanding.”

Watson beamed at this rare compliment. But Cobb noticed Kelleher tensing and looking up, worried now. “We just lost Facebook. Shut us down. Too bad, we had more than three hundred and fifty thousand following the feed. I believe we’ll lose YouTube next, but as of now, we have over fifteen million hits.”

Cobb thought about this. “They’ll try to track us through the accounts?”