“Open up, flyboy!” It was Sharpe, who once again had materialized out of nowhere just as Cole was dozing off. Cole was parked outside a convenience store on eastbound Route 50, their designated rendezvous point. He checked his watch and rolled down the window. Cold out there. Sharpe smiled craggily, but Cole wasn’t in the mood for it. “You’re half an hour late.” “I’m right on time, Captain Cole. You were half an hour early.” “You said nine thirty.” “I know what I said. I was giving you enough extra time to lower your guard. Which is exactly what happened, sleepyhead. Now unlock the doors so I can load the freight.” “Freight?” “You’ll see.” Cole popped the locks. Sharpe opened the rear door and hefted a black hard-shell suitcase that looked big enough to hold a bass drum. He tried awkwardly to wedge the case onto the backseat, bumping and scraping against the door frame. “No damn way, not with this Jap go-kart of yours. Unlatch the trunk.” “What the hell’s in there?”
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