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The FBI man flipped his phone shut on a terminated call, and continued to hold the device as he made a flat wave with his free hand. “This doesn’t leave the room, but they might’ve found the hotel.”
“That ‘might’ needs to be a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’” Vargas was scribbling with Joe’s pen on a yellow notepad.
“We’ll know if it’s a ‘no’ in about ten minutes. My man on the scene’s gonna give me a call back.”
Anthony Vargas put down Joe Stellacadente’s pen, ripped the top sheet off Joe’s notepad, and leaned forward to place that sheet in Joe’s outstretched fingers. The only other sound in the room was that of the FBI man drumming his fingers on a far table as he stared at his cell phone.
Joe quickly snatched the draft press release to a reading position for himself and Smeltzer, who leaned towards one shoulder to get a proper look. Joe read, read some more, and then looked up as he handed the sheet to his neighbor. “We’re doing the right thing.”
Vargas looked past his propped feet, at his deputy. “Who you trying to convince, me or you?”
Joe’s return gaze was unwavering. “I once had ancestors who didn’t do the right thing. But it was only in hindsight that one could see what the right thing was.”
Vargas’s frown turned into a smirk. “You don’t sound like a man who’s very sure of himself.”
Joe smiled as well, in his own way. “We’ve made the right choice, regardless of whether the result is right.”
The FBI man’s phone rang.