“It always is.” That was Eamon’s voice.
He stepped into the kitchen with his portfolio under one arm and road salt at the cuffs of his trousers.
“Federal called twenty minutes ago. Voss bought coffee at a Dunkin’ in Bourne at six-fifty. He used cash and was wearing a brown work jacket and a dark cap. He drove a black Ford F-150 with Massachusetts plates, headed south on Twenty-Eight.”
“Is federal moving on him?” I asked.
“They have two agents at Woods Hole and two on the Vineyard side, plainclothes.”
“And if he doesn’t come through Woods Hole?”
“Then federal has six hours and forty-eight thousand square miles to find a single pickup before the ceremony.”
“Dane’s been told?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And he said?”
“Copy.”
“Eamon,” I said. “If anything goes wrong this afternoon, I need to be able to get to him.”
“Vehicle to Hyannis, ninety minutes. Charter helicopter to the Vineyard, twenty. The drive to the hospital on the island is about ten. You can be there in under two hours.”
“You worked it before I asked.”
“Because I knew you would want it.”
“He’s going to be fine,” Eamon said.
“You don’t know that.”
“No, but I’m telling you anyway because it’s the answer you’d give me if it were my husband in that hall.”
I heard Dane over the comm.
“Farrow.”
“Here, Dane.”
“Did Eamon brief you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m at the venue. Federal’s at the ferry.”
A beat of silence.
“I’m carrying you with me,” Dane said.
The line went quiet. Five minutes later, Eamon left.
***
The first three hours were the worst. I had too much time and not enough information. My body’s adrenaline had nowhere to go.
Wiley came down in one of Samuel’s Northeastern hoodies, glasses pushed up on his forehead. He poured coffee, opened a laptop at the table, and started working.