"Heard you got blown up," Grant said.
"A little."
"Heard you killed two guys before breakfast."
"I had breakfast yesterday."
Wyatt's mouth did a thing it didn't usually do. "Heard you got introduced to extended family."
"I did."
"How was that?"
"It was a lot."
"It is," Wyatt said. "Was. Will be."
"Where's Rebecca?" Grant asked.
"Clinic. Cut on her leg, but she'll come out of it fine. Sleeping it off."
A beat of silence.
"All right," I said. "I'm on my way to talk to Craine."
"Are you?" Grant asked.
He said it level, but the level was a little flatter than Grant's level usually was. Wyatt, beside him, didn't say anything at all. He was looking at Grant. Grant was looking at me.
"Yeah. I'm going to put the screws to that man and see what this is about. If that doesn’t work, I’ll use my heaps of charm."
Grant and Wyatt shared a look.
I knew the look. I'd given the look. The look was the one you gave another operator who was about to walk into a piece of intel he didn't have yet.
"What?"
Grant scratched the back of his neck.
"It's all over the news, brother."
"What is?"
"The yacht."
I went still.
"Tell me."
"FBI's putting it out as a paramilitary attack. They're framing Dominion Hall as a private outfit in a turf battle with American militias." Grant's mouth turned down, the barest amount. "It'sbeen on cable since the harbor patrol got a camera on the wreckage two hours ago. Anchors with maps. Talking heads. Retired Bureau guys sayingconcerning developments.There’s concern for private citizens."
"Bullshit," Wyatt said. Quiet. To no one.
"Bullshit," Grant agreed.
I worked it.
The math was not hard. The math was almost insulting, it was so easy. Frame Dominion Hall as a paramilitary outfit beebopping around America causing trouble. Run a federal investigation under that pretext. Subpoena records. Walk men with badges through the front door.Investigatea piece of private property the federal government had no business inside of, and do it with the public sympathy of a country that didn't love private armies.
