The Night Crew by Brian Haig

attorney on our hands.”
    No, we certainly do not—especially not this defense attorney—though if I had the killer’s phone number, I might offer him a helpful tip about which throat to cut next.
    The victim of my mortal ruminations asked a very pertinent question. “Exactly what does that mean?”
    “It means we’ll do our part to keep you safe, and you’ll have to do yours.” He pulled a pair of devices from his pants pocket—they looked like small amulets—and handed one to Katherine and one to me. “For starters, here are your panic buttons. Keep them on or near you at all times, even when you shower. They’re waterproof. And never hesitate. If you’re wrong you’ll just waste a little of my time. But if you wait till a knife’s already at your throat”—he ran a finger across his neck, as though we needed another graphic—“you’ll be outta time. If you see something remotely suspicious, push the damn panic button.”
    He went on for a few minutes, offering us helpful tips and precautions we should follow. It was mostly the usual stuff a cautious person would do anyway, lock the doors and windows, close the blinds, pay attention to anybody paying you undue attention, or following you, but there was one additional precaution—always check the backseat of the car before you get in.
    This is called the shutting the barn door after the cow escaped, but it wasn’t a stupid suggestion.
    A two-man security team would trail us at all times. All travel arrangements had to be approved through his office. He or his people were to be notified in advance of all visitors. He was aware that Katherine had already set up shop in Highland Falls, New York—the small village outside the gate of the Military Academy at West Point—and a team was already en route to scope out the place and devise a security plan.
    When he finished he looked at Katherine and asked, “What are your plans now?”
    “My business here is finished. I’m driving back up to New York.”
    He paused, then looked at me. “You understand, sir, that it would be very convenient if the two of you remained together at all times.”
    I looked at Katherine. “Convenient for who?”
    O’Reilly was a little slow on the uptake because he felt the need to explain, “Between five defendants there are a total of nine attorneys we have to protect and—”
    I interrupted him to note, “Now eight.”
    “Eight . . . right. But we’re still spread pretty thin. For now, the service can only spare three agents for the two of you.”
    “Understood, Chief.” What I didn’t say, what I didn’t need to say, was everything else I now understood. He and his unit were going through the paces, providing the appearance of security in the event the killer had not filled his quota, and the shit hit the fan. He and I both knew, though, that effective full-time protection for a single party requires a team of at least six trained agents. Three agents for two targets is what they call in the trade a deterrent force, like using a perforated Trojan rubber; maybe you’ll get lucky, but maybe not.
    He produced a sheepish smile. “What I’m trying to suggest is, why don’t you be a gentleman and drive the lady up to New York?”
    I’d rather drive over the lady and drag her corpse to New York. But I nodded, then explained my need to drop by my apartment to pick up fresh uniforms, spare undergarments, shaving supplies, and one item I failed to mention—the pistol I kept hidden on the top shelf of the closet.

Chapter Six
    Predictably, Katherine’s car was a leased Toyota Prius, what they call a hybrid, and, though I consider myself as sensitive to the assassination of our environment as anybody, Sean Drummond was not the least bit happy with this choice.
    The car didn’t even require a key to get started, just this stupid button you push, then you can’t even hear the engine, so after the fifth time I punched the button, Katherine said, “Stop that, Sean.