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“The Malibu pier,” Bosch said.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“They talked about how crowded it would be on Monday.”
“Monday’s a holiday. Presidents’ Day. A lot of people go to the beach if it’s warm enough. And the pier—they’ve got two restaurants there. What are they going to do?”
“Whatever it is, they said it would ‘make that thing in Vegas look like child’s play.’”
“The mass shooting at the concert?”
“I assume that’s what they meant. They already have an arsenal and now they want machine guns and extra ammo? Has to be something like that. They talked about ‘the precision’ of it. I assume that means it’ll be a close assault, not sniping from a faraway structure like in Vegas.”
Bosch was shocked into silence.
“At least we know when they’re planning to do it,” Ballard said.
“There’s that,” Bosch said.
He was staring across the street at the row of vehicles he called the caravan.
The biggest RV shielded their view of the grill fire but the glow from it climbed up the rock face of the cliff above the motor home.
“How many of them are involved in this, you think?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Ballard said. “They ordered seven combo meals at McDonald’s. When I walked by their bonfire, they all looked likethey were pretty tight. It was five men and two women. Maybe they’re all in it, or maybe it’s just the two in the van.”
Bosch nodded.
“They want the guns,” he said. “All four. Maybe that’s where we set up a takedown.”
“They talked about that after you texted,” Ballard said. “And they aren’t planning to pay for the guns.”
Bosch nodded again. He knew what that meant.
“This has gotten too big,” Ballard said. “It started with me looking for a pissant car burglar and my badge, and now we’re talking about possible domestic terrorism. We can’t sit on this.”
“The bigger this thing is, the bigger the consequences for you,” Bosch said. “If the media gets hold of it and finds out that your badge ended up with terrorists who were going to shoot up the pier—”
“I know, I know, I’ll be lucky if they put me back on the late show in Hollywood.”
“You’ll be lucky if they put you back on patrol in Devonshire.”
“Thanks for being so supportive, Harry.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t support career suicide. Not when it’s your career.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“I don’t know, but the good thing is that we have some time. You heard them yourself. Monday is the day. That gives us four days to come up with a plan.”
“And what if we don’t?”
“Then, fine, you call in the troops.”
Ballard nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But I’m not waiting till Sunday night. Two days, Harry. We figure this out in two days or I take it to CTSOB and the sheriff’s department.”
