24
At three in the morning, Rebecca and Richie drove to the FBI parking lot in the Federal building. Seymour met them and led them to a van filled with the government’s listening equipment and monitoring system. A technician put a wire on Richie under his shirt and then checked to be sure it was working properly. Feeling the wire against his skin made everything he’d agreed to do that much more real—and deadly.
Rebecca said nothing, but the look in her eyes said it all. He knew she was worried about this, and that didn’t make him feel any better about it. The hardest part was the waiting, sitting in that little, claustrophobic van with Rebecca, Seymour, and a couple of others, watching the hands of the clock slowly tick by.
Finally, it was seven minutes before four. In the empty, early
