“I’m Angus MacKay. And ye are?”

“Sylvester Bacchus, station manager.”

“Tell me.” Angus stepped closer. “Are ye aiding and abetting a known terrorist?”

“No!” Sylvester ran a hand over his bald head, which was gleaming under the bright lights. “I told Corky I didn’t want any part of it. I sent her on vacation, but then she sent me the DVD—”

“From where?” Connor asked again.

Sylvester shrugged. “She didn’t say. The package was postmarked California, a few days ago. Hollywood, I believe.”

“I say, what a fortuitous coincidence.” Stone patted his hair as he regarded himself in the monitor. “There was a report that someone spotted that unsavory character in Los Angeles.”

“Several nights ago,” Connor muttered. “That’s when the interview must have been recorded. Casimir could be anywhere by now.”

“The devil take it.” Angus sheathed his sword.

“Merda,” Jack grumbled. “I was hoping to kill him tonight.”

“Yeah,” Phineas agreed. “And the really shitty part is that bastard’s back in America.”

Stone shuddered. “Such coarse language. Thank God this isn’t being broadcast to my listeners.”

“Sod off,” Connor told him.

“Humph.” Stone lifted his chin and marched toward the door. “You’re just jealous because your hair is unruly and barbaric.”

“You mean your hair is real?” Phineas asked as Stone passed by. “I thought it was a rug.”

Stone gasped and ran from the studio, clutching his hairbrush to his chest. Phineas grinned and did a high five with Ian.

“Sylvester, do ye still have the envelope Corky sent?” Connor asked. “We need that, and the DVD she made.”

“Sure.” The station manager rushed out.

Angus retrieved his cell phone from his sporran. “I’ll call J.L. Once we get a location in California, he can check it out.”