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No one was more devoted to the concept of gender equality than Mary Dove Shaw. She nonetheless felt there was something unladylike about semiautomatic pistols, especially the profoundly ugly black Glocks.

No, a woman should pack a revolver. In addition to the aesthetics, she believed that six shots were plenty if you knew what you were doing. (And the one she wore was a Ruger .44 Magnum, firing a slug so powerful that it would go straight through an assailant on its way to disabling the engine block of his getaway vehicle.)

“Those were good shots.” Mrs. Petaluma nodded approvingly as she replaced her own gun, the old cap-and-ball Colt Dragoon.

The women shared a smile and they climbed into the pickup.

Mary Dove fired up the engine and motored along the street in the direction of the levee. As they passed the mudslide, she noted three trout flopping on the ground in a shallow puddle.

She stopped and climbed out. Knowing how slippery such creatures could be, she took out a pair of canvas work gloves from thetoolbox affixed to the back bed, and collected the fish one at a time, depositing them in a cooler in the back of her truck and covering them with water from several bottles.

After police statements, and helping in any other way she could, she would ask to borrow Mrs. Petaluma’s kitchen to fry up the trout for the woman, Colter, Dorion and herself.

Mary Dove had her own Never Rules. And one of the most important was:

Never miss a chance to have a meal with friends and family.

64.

“We’re good. Six feet of stone and gravel.”

This pronouncement was from Ordell Balboa, who was a real sergeant in the real Army Corps of Engineers. The man and his team of eight had helicoptered in from a base near Sacramento. (He’d reported, with a confused frown, that, no, there had been no aviation groundings yesterday anywhere in the area. That was yet another fiction spun by the mercenaries.)

Colter stood with him and Dorion on the north side of Route 13. They were examining the dam.

He asked, “Who did the demo? Good work.”

“Man I use from time to time. Hire Denton.”

“That’s not a name.”

Dorion chuckled. “He’s a private explosives consultant and facilitator.”

Colter decided that would be an attention-getter if he had the job description written on his business card. He’d met Denton a few times. He was amused that the only way he referred to his sister was his “boss.”

Balboa was nodding as he examined the rockwork again. Heglanced back to Dorion. “How’d you get the authorization to do the blasting so fast?”

“I didn’t,” Dorion said. “I just ordered it. Paid for it myself.”

She offered nothing more.

There was a pause as he digested this.

Colter knew that any demolition work involving explosive materials needed local and state approval. The feds too, since the levee, as small as it was, still fell under the purview of the army engineers.

“I guess I don’t need to put in my report anything other than a rockslide being the cause of the damming obstruction.”

“Appreciate it.”

“But give me that man’s number. I could use him from time to time.”

Colter wondered how the U.S. military would respond to a man who named his explosives.

And apparently also had conversations with them.

The soldier shot a look at the remnants of the levee. “We can have a temporary one up in a week and a permanent one in a month. Then blast out Denton’s work, start the river up again.”

Colter glanced at his Winnebago.