‘Those devices should have turned on by now.’

‘Be patient.’

Half an hour passed.

‘I talked to my sister last night,’ Coop said. ‘Trish is going into the hospital tomorrow. They’re going to induce labor.’

‘How long is she overdue?’ Darby’s attention was still on the laptop.

‘Almost two weeks,’ Coop said. ‘They finally picked out a name for my nephew. Fabrice.’

‘She’s naming the baby after an air freshener?’

‘No, that’s Febreze. I said Fa brice. It’s French, like her husband.’

‘That kid better grow up with a thick skin.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Coop said. ‘Brandy thought the name sounded cool and hip.’

‘Brandy?’

‘New girl I’m seeing. She’s studying to be a cosmetologist. When she graduates, she wants to move to New York and name lipsticks.’

‘What does that mean? Name lipsticks?’

‘Lipstick companies, they can’t say colors like pink or blue. They’ve got to come up with cool marketing names like Pink Sugar and Loud and Lovely Lavender. Those are her names, by the way.’

‘Hands down, she’s certainly the brightest woman you’ve dated.’

The lines on the laptop’s screen started vibrating.

‘The listening devices are transmitting,’ the FBI tech said.

Darby grabbed the edge of her seat as the van sped up.

Chapter 42

The hospital bathroom reeked of Pine-Sol. Boyle was alone. He stood inside the last stall on the far left. He had already taken off his hat and FedEx jacket. The empty backpack, which had been strapped across his back, was now on the floor.

Boyle had worn green surgeon’s scrubs underneath his clothes. He took off his boots and slipped on a pair of sneakers. After he tied a bandana around his head, he stuffed the boots and FedEx clothes into the backpack and opened the stall door.

He checked himself in the mirror. Good. A pair of stylish black-framed glasses was tucked inside his breast pocket. He put them on.

Boyle stuffed his backpack inside the garbage can. He took out his BlackBerry and typed: ‘Ready. In position.’

Boyle opened the door and stepped out into the bright, busy corridor on the eighth floor. He walked down three corridors and stopped near the large bay windows overlooking the entrance for Mass General.

The only vehicles allowed near the main entrance were taxis and ambulances. He saw six ambulances parked out front. Two more ambulances were coming. Police were busy directing traffic. More police had been called in to handle the swelling crowd of reporters. They were huddled near the old brick building used for hospital deliveries.

Richard’s message came through five minutes later: ‘Go.’

Boyle reached inside his pocket. The detonator felt cold in his hand.

He walked away from the windows toward ICU. When he reached the waiting room, he hit the button.

A distant rumble, followed by glass shattering. Then the screaming started.

Stan Petarsky was trying hard not to think about the dead body inside the box next to his feet. He tried to think about something pleasant – like Jim Beam over ice – when the elevator door opened.

Erin Walsh, the pretty blonde he saw sometimes in the cafeteria, was standing in front of a door, talking on her cell phone and waving to him to come this way, to the stairwell. Stan picked up the box and carried it into Serology Lab.

Erin started taking pictures. Stan didn’t want to stick around to see a severed body. He headed for the door, thinking about how to get his hands on some Jim Beam, when the package exploded.

Chapter 43

Darby had a new view: a monitor showing what was happening outside the surveillance van.

They were driving at a good clip down Pickney Street, three blocks away from the Cranmore house. The houses were a little better over here, but not by much. Darby spotted more than one car parked up on cinder blocks.

Karl Hartwig, one of the SWAT members, was kneeling in the center of the van, his face covered by the periscope. Everyone else was watching the laptop.

On the monitor and coming up close was a battered black van parked on the left-hand side of the road, near a grouping of trees making up a small patch of hillywoods.

Spikes danced on the laptop screen and leveled off.

‘He’s in the black van,’ the FBI tech said.

Hartwig talked into his chest mike: ‘Alpha-One, this is Alpha-Two, we have confirmation on a black Ford van with tinted windows and no license plates parked on Pickney Street, over.’

‘Roger, Alpha-Two. We’re moving into position.’

A moment later, the surveillance pulled over and came to a stop. The engine was still running, the floor vibrating beneath her feet. Hartwig moved the periscope.

On the monitor now, down the far end of the street from which they had just come, was a UPS truck. It traveled a few feet and pulled over. Darby caught a brief flash of black coming from the back of the truck and then it was gone.

The UPS truck didn’t move. Darby knew it would stay there and block the street.

Static over Hartwig’s mike, then ‘Alpha-Two, this is Alpha-One.’

‘Go ahead Alpha-One,’ Hartwig said.

‘Alpha teams Three and Four are moving in position. Stand by.’

‘Roger, Alpha-One. Standing by.’

The UPS truck swept past the woods. The third surveillance vehicle, a flower delivery van, made its way down Coolidge Road.

Traveler was blocked in.

The black van still hadn’t moved.

Banville hung up the wall phone. ‘All the areas are blocked off,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s in position.’

‘Alpha-One, all teams report ready to go,’ Hartwig said. ‘We’re in position and standing by, over.’

‘Acknowledged, Alpha-Two. Prepare to engage.’

‘Copy, Alpha-One.’

Darby felt the surveillance van pull away from the curb, stop and turn around. Hartwig locked up the periscope and crouched next to his partner near the van’s back doors. Clipped to their belts were stun grenades – also known as flashbangs because of their blinding flash and deafening blast. An explosive entry had been authorized.

Darby watched the black van on the monitor. It still hadn’t moved.

Hartwig turned to her and said, ‘The two of you are to stay in here until the area is secured, understood?’

The van slowed down.

Hartwig gave the signal to his partner. The van’s back doors swung open.

The two SWAT officers jumped out into the light rain, leaving the back doors open. Darby moved out of her seat to get a better view.

SWAT officers were already positioned at the back of the Ford van, their gloved hands on the door – here came another SWAT officer running out from the woods, bringing up his pistol, targeting the driver’s side window.

Hartwig gave the hand signal. A SWAT officer yanked on the door handle and the van’s back doors open.

Hartwig tossed the flashbang grenade inside, and before Darby shut her eyes, she saw a man in a dark jacket sitting in front of a table holding some type of equipment full of small, blinking lights.

The grenade exploded in blinding light, the blast deafening. Hartwig came around and brought up his weapon, his laser scope targeted on the person’s back. He was still sitting in front of the table. He hadn’t moved, and his hands were hidden inside his jacket pockets.

‘HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD, DO IT NOW, PUT THEM UP AND DON’T MOVE.’

Traveler didn’t move.

Darby felt the van come to a sharp and sudden stop. Banville was out of his seat, moving past her. Hartwig rushed into the back of Traveler’s van.

‘GET YOUR HANDS UP IN THE AIR RIGHT NOW. DO IT.’

Hartwig threw Traveler to the floor.

Darby stepped outside, legs shaking from the time spent sitting. She wanted to be in there with the SWAT officer, wanted to see Traveler’s face and look into his eyes when he said Carol’s name.

Hartwig stepped out of the van, shaking his head. He said something to Banville.