The man made no reaction.

“We wanted to talk to you about your arrest. It has no bearing on your case, which, from what I understand, is already concluded.”

The man looked at Tasker and said, “Why would you want to talk to me? Why not talk to another FBI agent?”

“I’m not with the FBI.”

He looked at Sutter. “And you’re a Miami cop?” He had no trace of an accent. He could have been from Los Angeles.

Sutter said, “That’s right.”

Tasker said, “I’m an agent with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

“So an FDLE agent and a Miami cop are interested in an FBI case. This must be some turf war.”

“Not really. The opposite, actually. We’re on another case that the FBI is not interested in.” Tasker looked at the calm little man. “Who arrested you?”

He looked surprised. “Why, the FBI, of course.”

“I mean, which agent? Do you remember?”

He nodded vigorously. “Oh yes. Of course. A most disagreeable man. Agent Bolini.”

Tasker cut his eyes to Sutter. Then said, “I read the news article, but what exactly did you do?”

“I am afraid, due to legal considerations, I shall not answer that.” He looked at Sutter. “And nothing could make me talk.”

Sutter shrugged, stood up and said, “Okay, that just means I’m outta here quicker.” Sutter took a step toward the door. The small Arab man looked to Tasker.

“Okay, okay, wait. I’ll talk to you.”

Sutter let a small smile cross his face.

Tasker winked at him, turned to Al-Soud and said, “We’re listening.”

The man gazed ahead as he recalled details. He began, “I’ve got to tell you-it was brilliant.”

Tasker smiled. “Hold on, ah, what should we call you? Samir? Mr. Al-Soud?”

“Call me Sami. Everyone does.”

“Okay, Sami, tell us your idea.”

“It was mostly mine, but Kaz added some logistics.”

Sutter cut in. “Summarize this shit, Sami. We’re not investigating you. We’re just interested in your case.”

Sami nodded, anxious to get on with his story. “Well, you know that Turkey Point used to be relatively unguarded. I am an electrical engineer and had done some contract work out there a few years ago.”

“At the nuclear plant?” asked Tasker.

“No, the fossil fuel plant, but they’re right next to each other and the engineers showed me around plenty of times. They have that typical American pride in their accomplishments. They love to brag and show off how smart they are.” He took a second and asked, “Now, where was I?”

“You were saying how brilliant you are,” said Sutter.

He nodded, “Yes, of course. So, as I was saying, I talked it over with Kaz, my friend, and we thought that if someone attacked the plant from the ocean side, they could make quite an inroad to this facility. There used to be a dock there and everything.”

Sutter said, “Why’d you want to attack it?”

“It was a popular idea among some of us. Make a statement about America’s vulnerability.”

Sutter took a harsh tone. “A vulnerability based on freedom that you enjoyed.”

“Correct,” said Sami, like he couldn’t understand Sutter’s reasoning.

“And you liked living here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But you wanted to attack us?”

“Yes, the power plant.”

“Why?”

“I told you, to make a statement about America’s vulnerability.”

Tasker looked over to Sutter and shook his head so they could move on.

Sami was silent for a few seconds, then said, “So, I had the idea that a big enough bomb planted on the ocean side of the plant might not destroy it but would scare a lot of people and disrupt life.”

Tasker asked, “How were you going to get the bomb in? Suicide attack?”

“No, of course not. Not unless Kaz wanted to ride in a boat loaded with explosives. And he wanted to live as much as me.”

“So what did you plan?”

“A sealed explosive that when it was dumped in the water and reached a certain depth, it armed itself. Then, after we were gone, it exploded.”

“You could build something like that? Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Not us. We met a man. An engineer who told us he wanted to see the same thing-the plant to go up in a big show. He had the whole device made up. He had the explosive, too. But before we even had a boat, the FBI grabbed us and we abandoned the plan. They had us, they knew everything, so Kaz and I pleaded guilty. I start a twelve-year sentence next month.”

“What happened to the other guy, the engineer?”

“I don’t think they ever caught him. I gave his name to Agent Bolini, but I don’t know what happened.”

“What was his name?”

“Daniel Westerly. He lived in Naranja.”

Tasker just stared at Sutter.

Wells had almost everything ready to go. He was about to get some rest for the night, when his pager went off. Within a minute, he’d hustled down to a gas station and called the number back, and when a man answered, Wells said, “Hello?”

The man just said, “They talked to Al-Soud.”

“So?” asked Daniel.

“So be careful.”

“I always am.”

Wells heard the line go dead and shook his head. If that little Arab fella couldn’t tell the device he’d made for him and his buddy Kaz was as bogus as a three-dollar bill, then Wells wasn’t worried about what he might tell the cops.

Wells chuckled at the memory of him showing the two would-be terrorists the heavy marine fuel tank with the few fake gauges and switches welded on the outside, and then saying it was a pressure-triggered bomb that could bring down Turkey Point. The confusion on their faces when the FBI had swooped in was worth its weight in gold. That was the sort of thing that everyone liked. It satisfied his urge to a degree and had bought him some goodwill, too. If Sami Al-whatever wanted to blab, he could, but that dumb son of a bitch didn’t know anything useful.

Tasker knew it was a dream, but he went with it anyway. In his mind he was with an old girlfriend and she wanted him, not the satchel of cash he was accused of taking. Her dark, shapely legs were about to encircle him when, just like in real life, somebody pounded on his front door and ruined the moment. It took a couple of seconds for him to realize the rapping was real and he was still in his own bed, alone. He rolled to his right and looked at the alarm clock. Who would be pounding on his door at seven-fucking-thirty in the morning? Normally he’d be up and around, but his interview with Sami Al-Soud at MCC had kept him up late, as he and Sutter had contemplated, over a beer until nearly two in the morning, what the hell was going on with the case.

He sat up in bed and ran his hands through his sandy, short hair. He slipped on a pair of gym shorts that were lying on the ground and pulled an FSU T-shirt off the chair near his bedroom door. He padded through the town house, clearing his head as he went. Just as he reached the door, the pounding started again. He turned the knob, leaving the chain on, and peeked out the crack.

He let his eyes adjust to the sharp Florida daylight and said, “What the hell are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

His ex-wife, Donna, in jeans and a casual shirt, smiled back. “I just needed to see you.” She hesitated, then added, “You alone?”

“Yeah, sure. Come in.” He closed the door and unlatched it, then reopened it to let her walk in.

As she crossed the threshold, she said, “I’m sorry, bothering you like this, but I need to talk to someone. That’s not correct, I needed to talk to you.”

They sat on the couch. “You want something? Juice? I could try and make coffee.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“The girls are okay, otherwise you would have said something. Why aren’t you at work?”

“Called in sick. I left the house for here as soon as the girls were ready for early-morning activities at school.”