Tony picked up on it and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

The wine was damn good and it lifted his spirits from the first sip. It tasted unlike any other heavy red. He savored the understated layers of currant and black cherry, with a tinge of coffee. But even his relaxed mind wasn’t able to stray far from the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Y’know, something’s bothering me about this whole thing,” Jack said.

“Talk to me.”

“I watched that press conference twice and I still don’t understand why the mayor and the FBI pushed aside the whole Arab connection.”

“A problem with the source?”

“Who, the carjacker?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe the kid was lying. Or could be he got it wrong.”

Jack shook his head slowly. “They had to have pulled security video from the Arco station by now. If it’s not true, someone would have said so. Maintain good relations with the Arabs and all that.”

“So you’re saying that the absence of a denial is as good as a confession.”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

“I like it,” Tony said. “There’s something else I like, too.”

Jack looked at him. “What’s that?”

“It sounds like you’re finally getting your mojo back.”

Jack considered that as he sat back. He let the wine and the cool afternoon breeze and the fellowship of a good friend remind him how sweet and precious life was. Even so, as Drabinsky had shown, there were qualities and ideals far greater than that, the need to do the right thing, the honorable thing, whatever the cost.

If an Arab had set the bomb, Jack wanted to know who and why.