"Jer? What if we lose him in the store? He could walk out on Fenton Street and disappear. There's a street entrance on the other side, and it leads right down to the train station. We're screwed if he hops the Metro."
Cummings thought about the situation while the Suburban settled into a parking spot several spaces back from the store, providing them with perfect line of sight toward the entrance and the target's car. He could still see Petrovich walking toward the store. Two more seconds passed, and Cummings made a decision. They would follow the terrorist into Whole Foods and kill him. They were at war with Al Qaeda, and this traitorous son of a bitch was helping them bring the war back onto U.S. soil. Petrovich would die in that store.
"New plan, Ben. Strip down to street clothes. Silenced pistols only. Let's go!"
Cummings and Sanchez got out of the Suburban and hastily removed all of their tactical gear. Comms gear, vests and pistol rigs piled up on their seats within ten seconds, as each man hurried to shed all visual cues that would normally cause civilian panic. Cummings screwed a four-inch silencer onto the threaded barrel of his .40 USP Tactical Compact, and tucked the pistol into the rear waistline of his faded jeans, barely covering it with the bottom of his tight fitting dark blue sweatshirt. The pistol's silencer made it nearly impossible to jam the gun far enough down his pants to stay in place. He would have to keep a hand on it the whole time. Sanchez was having the same problem.
"Don't worry about it, just keep the gun out of sight for now," Cummings advised, walking rapidly toward the Whole Foods entrance.
He turned around and yelled to Doug, "Get the other team over here now!"
Daniel walked into the store and was immediately treated to cold, lavender-scented air, infused with the rich smell of cooked food. He was also greeted by a layout that did not resemble a typical grocery store, which presented him with a challenge. He wished he had kept driving to the Giant food store on the other side of the town center. He had never been inside a Whole Foods store, and though it felt infinitely more comfortable than the standard fluorescent lit food mausoleums he normally frequented, right now he needed familiarity. Grimacing, he grabbed a green plastic hand basket from a pile just inside of the sliding glass doors, and walked into the produce section, which appeared to be the only section of the store located where Daniel expected.
He moved quickly through the crowded section, trying to put as much distance between himself and whoever might have left the Suburban to follow him. He really wanted to get them into one of the long aisles, where he would be able to pull off a few of his better tricks. He nearly broke into a jog when he exited the maze-like produce area, and still saw no aisles. He stumbled into another section, filled with more vegetables and walls of refrigerated items. He risked a glance back at the entrance, but did not see anyone that looked suspicious.
A large, precariously stacked dry foods display loomed ahead, and beyond that, Daniel saw at least a dozen aisles. As he walked toward them, he caught a glimpse of two men, dressed in simple, dark clothing, entering the store side by side. They moved with a purpose, and Daniel was pretty sure their purpose wasn't surveillance.
He stopped at the beginning of the third aisle, pretending to check out the items on the end cap. He wanted them to see him here, and wait until they were close enough to ensure they followed him down the aisle. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw them round the produce section corner, and slow down as they spilled into the store's center connecting aisle. He placed a bag of organic tortilla chips and a jar of salsa into his basket, and waited for the two men to make a move.
They approached slowly, pretending to examine items, and Daniel waited until they reached the first aisle before disappearing down the aisle to his left. He needed to see how they operated. If they both came down the same aisle, then he was in business. If they separated, then his chance of success in the store would be minimal, and he would have to quickly find another exit.
He stopped two-thirds of the way down the aisle, about sixty feet, and placed three cans of tuna in his basket, waiting for one of them to either peek around the corner or enter the aisle. Filling his peripheral vision, they both stepped into the aisle and walked toward him. Daniel turned and opened the distance between them, moving briskly toward the back of the store. He turned the corner and started the transformation, oblivious to the fact that the two men had almost broken into a full run.
As soon as was he out of their sight, he slid the shopping basket as far as he could across the aisles, landing it two aisles over. He turned down the adjacent aisle, and deftly removed the golf jacket, pulling the entire jacket inside out to reveal a brown and blue patterned flannel interior. He quickly put the jacket back on, and pulled out several flaps surrounding the bottom, turning the jacket into what looked like an oversized, unbuttoned flannel shirt. He reached inside the "shirt" pocket and pulled out a worn blue Cubs cap, with light brown hair protruding from the open bottom. In a practiced manner, he placed this on his head and tucked the hair on the sides with his fingers. He now turned back toward the end of the aisle and started walking slowly, simultaneously pulling out a pair of thick rimmed fake designer eyeglasses and a non-functioning cell phone from one of the exterior flannel pockets. He had just pushed the glasses up his nose and turned his head down to examine the cell phone in his left hand, when two serious, dark haired men rushed around the corner, each with a hand behind his back.
Daniel glanced up at the first man, his mouth hanging slightly open. He hoped that all the man processed, for the next few seconds, was a slightly disheveled, slack looking graduate student in a worn flannel shirt fumbling with a cell phone. He just needed them off guard for a few seconds. Apparently, the quick change satisfied the first man, and he continued toward the next aisle without breaking pace.
Daniel slipped his right hand down to the four-inch folded knife in his back pocket, as the next man, slightly shorter and stockier, barreled into the opening, glanced at Daniel, then continued toward his partner. He took a few steps, and suddenly swung his body to face Petrovich, bringing his pistol around as he turned. Petrovich had seen this coming, and the fake cell phone struck the floor, leaving Daniel's hands free.
He bolted inside of Sanchez's striking radius and gripped the man's shooting arm at the wrist with his left hand, while viciously slashing the knife blade across the commando's throat with a powerful reverse grip. Daniel felt a hot spray pulse across the back of his head and neck, and saw a bright red arterial splash hit several yellow boxes spaghetti in front of him. Before Sanchez could react, which would have been an impressive feat at this point, Daniel jammed the blade back into his throat, and the man went slack. He hated knife work.
Daniel moved his left hand forward along Sanchez's wrist and removed the pistol from the man's non-existent grip. He kept the pistol aimed at the corner of the next aisle, right at head level, and within a fraction of a second, Daniel saw the black cylindrical shape of a silencer appear, followed by Cumming's head. They fired at the same time, each with a disadvantage. Cummings was moving too fast, and Daniel was using his off hand.
Daniel heard a snap pass by his right ear, as Cummings’ first bullet missed his head by less than an inch. The bullet continued past him, through the store, striking the decorative glass frame above a large serving station that housed shiny stainless steel bins filled with barbequed meats. Glass rained down into all of the simmering bins and a brown leak proof carton held by a skinny Hispanic woman. The second bullet went wider than the first, and higher, striking a suspended light near the barbeque cart, sending a cascade of sparks down onto the heads of a young, white grunge couple standing in front of the meat counter. Daniel's first and only bullet didn't miss. It punctured Cummings’ left eye, exiting low at the base of his skull with surprisingly little back spray. He noticed a perforated box of pasta fall from the aisle behind Cummings.