"So where's our boy?" Lampert asked his partner.
Alvarado explained that Trotter had left his house about the same time as York and headed in the same direction. They'd lost him in traffic for a time but then picked him up at a Whole Foods grocery store lot within walking distance of Rodriguez's. One officer saw him inside.
Lampert called the other players in the set-up. "It's going down," he announced.
Doing his impersonation of York, Billings walked outside, got into the car and headed into traffic. Eberhart and York climbed into one of the chase cars and eased after him, though well behind so they wouldn't get spotted by Trotter if he was, in fact, trailing Billings.
Twenty minutes later the undercover cop pulled up in front of Rodriguez's Garden Supplies, and Eberhart, York beside him, parked in a mini-mall lot a block away. Lampert and the teams moved into position nearby. "Okay," Billings radioed through his hidden mike, "I'm getting the tank, going inside."
York and Eberhart leaned forward to watch what was happening. York could just make out his Mercedes up the street.
Lampert called over the radio, "Any sign of Trotter?"
"Hasn't come out of Whole Foods yet," sounded through the speaker of the walkie talkie dashboard.
Billings came on a moment later. "All units. I've loaded the fake tank in the car. The backseat. I'm going back inside."
Fifteen minutes later York heard a cop's voice urgently saying, “Have something… Guy in a hat and sunglasses, could be Trotter approaching the Mercedes from the east. He's got a shopping bag in one hand and something in the other. Looks like a small computer. Might be a detonator. Or the device itself."
The security specialist nodded at Stephen York, sitting beside him, and said, "Here we go."
"Got him on visual," another cop said.
The surveillance officer continued. "He's looking around… hold on… okay, the suspect just walked by York 's car. Couldn't see for sure, but he paused. Think he might've dropped something underneath it. Now he's crossing the street… he's going into Miguel's."
Lampert radioed, “That'll be where he'll detonate the device from… all right, people, let's seal off the street and get an undercover inside Miguel's to monitor him." Eberhart lifted an eyebrow to York and smiled. "This is it."
"Hope so," was the uneasy response.
Now officers were moving in slowly, sticking close to the buildings on either side of Miguel's Bar and Grill, where Trotter'd be waiting for "York" to return to the car, detonate the device and burn him to death.
A new voice came on the radio. "I'm inside Miguel's," came a whisper from the second undercover cop. "I see the subject by the window on a stool, looking out. No weapons in sight. He's opened up what he was carrying before – a small computer or something, antenna on it. He just typed something. Assume that the device is armed."
Lampert radioed, "Roger. We're in position, three behind Miguel's, two in front. The street's been barricaded and Rodriguez's is clear; we got everybody out the back door. We're ready for the takedown."
In Eberhart's car, the security man kept up an irritating drumming with his fingertips on the steering wheel.
York tried to tune it out, wondering, Would Trotter resist? Maybe he'd panic and -
He jumped as Eberhart's hand gripped his arm hard. The security man was looking in the rear-view mirror. He was frowning. "What's that?"
York turned. On the trunk was a small shopping bag. While they'd been staring at York 's Mercedes, somebody had put it there.
"This is Eberhart. All units, standby." Lampert asked, "What's up, Stan?"
Eberhart said breathlessly, "He made us! He didn't plant anything at the Mercedes. Or if he did there's another device on our car. It's in a Whole Foods bag, a little one. We're getting out!"
"Negative, negative," another voice called over the radio. "This is Grimes with the bomb unit. It could have a pressure or rocker switch. Any movement could set it off. Stay put, we'll get an officer there."
Eberhart muttered, "It's a double feint. He leads us off with the poison and then a fake bomb at the Mercedes. He's been watching us all along and he's planning to get us here… Jesus."
Lampert called, "All units, we're going into Miguel's. Don't let him hit the detonator."
Eberhart covered his face with his jacket.
Stephen York had his doubts that that would provide much protection from an exploding gas tank. But he did exactly the same.
"Ready?" Lampert whispered to Alvarado and the others on the take down team, huddled at the back door of Miguel's. Nods all around.
"Let's do it."
They crashed through the door fast, pistols and machine guns up, while other officers charged through the front. As soon as he stepped into the bar, Lampert sighted on Trotter's head, ready to nail him if he made any move toward the detonator.
But the suspect merely turned, alarmed and frowning in curiosity like the other patrons, at the sound of the officers.
"Hands up! You, Trotter, freeze, freeze!"
The landscaper stumbled back off the stool, eyes wide in shock. He lifted his hands.
An officer from the bomb squad stepped between Trotter and the detonator and looked it over carefully, as the tac cops threw the man to the floor and cuffed him.
"I didn't do anything! What this all about?"
The detective called into his microphone, "We've got him. Bomb Units One and Two, proceed with the render safe operation."
In the car, complete silence. Eberhart and York struggled to remain motionless but York felt as if his pounding heart was going to jiggle the bomb enough so that it would detonate.
They'd learned that Trotter was in custody and couldn't push the detonator button. But that didn't mean that the device wasn't set with a hair trigger. Eberhart had spent the last five minutes lecturing York on how sensitive some bomb detonators could be – until York had told him to shut the hell up.
Wrapped in his jacket, the businessman peeked out and, in the side-view mirror, watched the policeman in a green bomb suit approach the car slowly. Through the radio's tinny speaker they heard, "Eberhart, York, stay completely still."
"Sure," Eberhart said in a throaty whisper, his lips barely moving.
York could see the policeman step closer and peer into the shopping bag. He took out a flashlight and pointed it downward, examining the contents. With a wooden probe, like a chopstick, he carefully searched the bag.
Through the speaker they heard what sounded like a gasp. York cringed.
But it wasn't.
The sound was a laugh. Followed by: "Trash."
"It's what?"
The officer pulled his hood off and walked to the front of the car. With a shaking hand, York rolled the window down.
"Trash," the man repeated. "Somebody's lunch. They had sushi, Pringles and a Yoo-hoo. That chocolate stuff. Not a meal I myself would've picked."
"Trash?" Lampert's voice snapped through the speaker.
"That is affirmative."
The first bomb unit called in; a search of the area beneath York 's Mercedes revealed nothing but a crumpled soda cup, which Trotter might or might not've thrown there.
York wiped his face and climbed out of the car, leaned against it to steady himself.
"Goddamn it, he's been yanking our chain. Let's go talk to that son of a bitch."