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CHAPTER TWELVE

T HIRTY YEARS AGO.

The students met in the same bar and sat at the same table. As before, the Planner arrived first. As before, he was in charge. “How’s the hunting and gathering going?”

“I’ve got almost everything I need,” the Builder said. “One more trip to the city should do it. I’ll go next month.”

“And our friend?”

“Knows nothing.”

He turned to the Crusader. “What have you learned?”

She was both the best and the worst person to do the recon on the target. The best because her presence was never surprising. She’d shown up there at least once a month for over a year, demanding they make changes, sometimes picketing all by herself. They saw her as a nuisance and mostly ignored her.

Which made it easy for her to watch the comings and goings at the place without arousing suspicion.

She was the worst person for the job because, when it was done, she would be the most logical suspect.

But the Planner had a plan.

The Crusader gave her report regarding the lumber company’s business hours, the employees’ schedules, the security personnel, and what she’d observed of the alarm systems. The Planner wrote everything down in his notebook, carefully vague in case anybody got ahold of it.

When she was finished, he said, “We need to talk alibis. Mine is in place.”

“You really think your father will lie for you?” the Builder asked.

“No question.”

His father would believe him. Even if he didn’t, he’d protect him. He always had.

To the Builder, the Planner said, “You’ll be at work, right? How about our friend?”

“I’ll figure something out. I’ll make sure of it.”

Then the Planner took the Crusader’s hand.

He loved holding her hand. Never mind that she was married. Never mind that she had a kid. She’d give up on that life soon enough, and then they’d be together.

Doing this with her…doing this for her…would prove his devotion. His mother would be horrified. His father might disown him. He didn’t care. He’d do anything for her.

“Your alibi is the problem,” he said.

“I don’t care!” Her voice was loud enough that people at the bar turned to stare.

“Please lower your voice.” He kept his low and steady.

She did, marginally. “I don’t care who knows. I’ll take the blame for it.”

“But your little girl,” the Planner said. “You don’t want to leave her, do you?”

The Crusader blinked a couple of times. Sometimes her dreams were so lofty, so strongly felt, that she forgot she had to live in the real world. That was why they were perfect together. His feet were always planted firmly in reality.

Reminding her of her baby usually pulled her back in.

“Okay, you’re right.” She nodded a few times. “What’s your idea?”

“Like me, you won’t have a true alibi. You’ll need to fabricate one. You’ll need somebody to lie for you.”

She seemed to realize who he meant. “He won’t do it.”

“He will.”

“He’ll use it to take her away from me.”

“That’s why we have to be strategic.” The Planner told her exactly what to do. Carefully, slowly, repeating the ideas over and over. Because when the Crusader got like this, sometimes she couldn’t focus. Sometimes she couldn’t comprehend.

It was a long time before she nodded her understanding. “His clothes.”

“Which the Builder will wear to assemble the bomb.”

“His tools,” she said.

The Builder spoke. “I’ll get you a list of what I need.”

The Planner said, “A few strands of his hair.”

It wasn’t very long, but it was long enough.

“And you’ll plant a couple of books in your house,” the Planner said. “To prove to anybody looking that he could have done it himself.”

“He would never, though. Nobody would believe?—”

“To make it look like you did it? To get custody of his daughter? To prove you were unfit? It’s not about what he would do. It’s about the story we can spin. It’s about what we can get people to believe.”

Hurt filled her eyes. “He would never betray me like that.”

The Planner tamped down a surge of irritation. “You and I know that, but the authorities don’t.”

The Crusader agreed, but he could see the reluctance in her expression. “I don’t want him to go to prison. The baby needs him.”

The baby.

It always came back to the baby.

Other words hovered between them, but the Crusader wouldn’t admit them. That she needed her husband, or thought she did. That she’d chosen him for a reason.

The Planner leaned closer and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “We’re not trying to frame him. We just need him to believe we will. He won’t risk going to prison, being separated from his daughter. He’ll cover for you to protect himself.”

The truth dawned, and the Crusader smiled. “I see. I’ll do it.”