The plan’s timetable had been changed, and everything had been pushed up by two days. To Cap’s dismay, the alteration meant less time to dust off his lock-picking skills. Deviating from his own rules, Papa Steve had called Lou to break the news. “We’re going on Sunday,” he had said, “not Tuesday.” “Sunday? Why so soon?” “Can’t tell you over the phone. You still in?” “I’m in. I’m in.” “And your pal?” “In. I’m sure of it. I just have an aversion to change.” “Just meet me at the place, and I’ll explain everything.” The place, transmitted to Lou in another under-the-door menu, was twenty miles southeast of the Mantis base, near the town of Dudley. Lou and Cap waited in the woods on the side of a rutted dirt road by a sequential Barbasol shaving cream sign. They were in a part of town devoid of houses, businesses, or much traffic. The bright sun, cast against a cloudless sky, did little to warm the morning. Even though Cap was wearing gloves, a jacket, and fleece, he needed to dance his trademark boxing moves to keep warm.
