“I know you did.”
Federal interrupted the comm channel.
“All units. Subject Voss disembarked the fifteen-thirty Falmouth boat. Subject is on the island. He’s in a black F-one-fifty. Fifteen minutes from the venue if driving direct.”
“Dane,” I said.
“I heard.”
“Get Cabot out. Now.”
“The reception’s started. We’re moving to the side hall.”
“Now, Dane.”
“We’re moving.”
I paced and then tapped the comm. “Dane. Status.”
“Moving through the corridor. Cabot’s behind me. Two federal in front, two behind. We’re going to the side hall. One door in from the catering vestibule and one service exit. Federal has both.”
“Why the side hall and not the morning room?”
“Morning room has five windows on the ocean side. The side hall has none.”
The comm crackled. Federal was back.
“All units. Movement at the beach trailhead. Subject sighted wearing a brown work jacket and a dark cap. He’s moving north about sixty seconds from the Harcourt property line.”
I heard Dane shout. “Marquez. Catering vestibule. Cabot, against the inside wall. Down on three. One. Two. Three.”
A sidearm fired, flat and dry. A beat and a second shot, sharper, closer to the mic. Then a third sounded, further away.
I heard a body hitting the floor.
“Dane.”
Nothing.
“Dane.”
“Here.”
His voice was tight and clipped.
“Cabot’s clean. Voss is down. Federal has him. He was carrying a device in two cases. Federal has them.”
“Dane.”
“I’m hit.”
I knew it from the tightness in his voice. “Where?”
“Thigh. Through and through. Femoral’s fine. I can stand.”
Cabot sounded on the comm, his voice pitched higher than I’d ever heard it: “Farrow.”
“Stanley.”