“Are you trying to talk me out of this?”
“I want you to go in with your eyes open.”
Jack weighed it another minute, his gaze drifting down the hallway and coming to rest on the door to the guest bedroom, where Abuela lay sleeping. “What am I supposed to do, wait for my grandmother to end up like Rene?”
Andie didn’t answer.
“And while I’m at it, maybe I should tell the Laramore family that I have to drop their case against BNN because it could be dangerous to find out who grabbed their daughter by the throat. And I can just keep using Theo’s cell for the next six months while the FBI monitors my private phone lines, I can send Max to go live permanently with the Kayal family, and I can just forget about ever taking another walk from my office to Theo’s bar unless I want to get choked by some psycho jumping out of the bushes.”
“It’s maddening, I know.”
“Way beyond maddening,” said Jack.
“So, it’s a go?”
Jack started toward the front door. “Yeah,” he said as he grabbed his car keys from the hook on the wall. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Fifty
Jack reached the park about ten minutes early, not quite eleven twenty.
As the name implies, Bayfront Park abuts Biscayne Bay in downtown Miami. Biscayne Boulevard, the city’s widest thoroughfare, borders on the west, separating thirty-two acres of greenery, walkways, and serenity from the sheer face of the towering Miami skyline. To the south is the high-rise hotel from which the big glowing orange drops every New Year’s Eve-which Jack and Andie had learned the hard way was the perfect place for folks who hate cold weather but love that Times Square feeling of ringing in the new year while drowning in a sea of loud, drunken strangers.
“I see you,” said Andie, her voice somewhat mechanical sounding in his earpiece. Jack did not reply; he had no microphone, as moving his lips could have tipped off Merselus that he was wired for communication.
“Walk a little slower if you can hear me,” said Andie. She was confirming his reception.
Jack slowed as he approached the Flagler Street entrance to the park’s main east-west axis. The central fountain was in sight and due east, halfway between him and the shoreline. The Miami Dade Courthouse was a short ride away on the elevated Metromover. Over the years, in many a trial, Jack had strolled past the park’s central fountain on his way to the beach chairs on the shoreline, where he would consult with passing dolphins and manatees on what verdict his jury might return.
“Okay, we’re good,” said Andie. “Keep moving.”
Jack resumed walking at his normal pace. Each step took him deeper into the canopy of tall trees and farther away from the urban glow of the office towers behind him. Soon he was entirely dependent on the moon and the streetlamps that lined the walkway to break the darkness. The amphitheater was up and over the embankment to his left, as was the Feng Shui Garden. Jack stayed on course, walking directly toward the fountain. It was quiet at this hour, essentially an oversize concrete bowl of motionless water on an enormous circle of coral-stone pavers in the dead center of the park.
“Stop,” said Andie.
He did. Jack was standing on the outermost ring of stone pavers that encircled the fountain. A string of park benches ran along the outer perimeter. Jack counted five homeless people asleep on the benches.
He wondered if one of them was Merselus.
Jack’s phone rang. The tech agents had rigged it so that Andie could hear.
“Answer it,” said Andie.
Jack took the call, expecting it to be Merselus. It wasn’t.
“Meet me on the platform at the Bayfront Station,” said Sydney.
Jack turned around. Miami’s Metromover was an elevated tram system that wound through downtown and the financial district. Jack could see the Bayfront Station from where he was standing, but this wasn’t part of the plan at all.
“What?” he said.
“You heard me.”
“Sydney, what are you doing?”
“Bayfront Station. Eleven forty-five.”
The call ended. Jack checked the time. He had fifteen minutes-enough time, but none to waste. He walked while waiting for Andie’s instructions.
Andie moved into reactive mode. She and her tech agent were inside an FBI special communications van, which was parked at ground level inside the garage at One Biscayne Tower, directly across the boulevard from the park. Two tech agents in the field were feeding her live-streaming video from surveillance cameras. She radioed position one on the rooftop.
“Novak, can you get Bayfront Station from your current location?”
“That’s affirmative,” he said.
She knew position two-one of the “homeless” on a park bench near the central fountain-would be useless in his current location. She radioed him with instructions: “Hernandez, relocate to the top of the embankment at the amphitheater. You will be eye level with the Bayfront Station platform.”
“Roger that.”
She checked the map on the computer screen. No changes to perimeter control were required-the same streets and alleys were implicated. The ground team, however, required adjustment. Andie started with the undercover agent who was dressed, wigged, and made up to resemble Sydney Bennett-the bait to draw out Merselus.
“Pederson to Bayfront Station. Eleven forty-five arrival.”
“Roger,” came the reply.
The rest of the ground team also needed adjustment if they were going to be in position to move in when Merselus showed his face. There were two more homeless guys, a touristy couple strolling in the park, a guitarist with a plate of coins sitting outside the entrance to the Metromover station.
“Position three, to south entrance of Bayfront Park; position four, to bus stop at Flagler; position five, to corner of Southeast Second Street; position six”-the guitarist-“stay exactly where you are.”
Andie checked the computer screen one more time. The final relocation was critical, and it took her tech agent a minute to compute the angles and come up with a clear line of fire for her sniper.
“Haywood,” she said into her radio. “Rooftop, Edison Hotel. Friedman will meet you at the service elevator at the back of the building.”
“Roger.”
Andie switched to another frequency for the final instruction.
“New destination is covered, Jack. Proceed to Bayfront Station.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Andie’s instruction ended with a crackle in Jack’s earpiece. New destination is covered. He wondered what that meant, exactly. A SWAT team in position? A sniper ready to take out Merselus?
Paramedics standing by in case it all goes wrong?
Jack was already at Biscayne Boulevard, the western border of the park. Traffic was light on the four northbound lanes between him and the elevated people-mover station, which rose up like an oil rig from the urban sea of concrete and asphalt.
Jack stepped to the curb, then looked up at the platform across the street. A rubber-tired tram entered the station, and its doors slid open. One passenger got on. Two people stepped off and took the escalator down to the turnstile. The tram pulled away, leaving the platform unoccupied. Jack drew a breath, taking in the warm night air, and then started across the street.
Andie’s voice was in his ear again. “No rush, Jack. Decoy to arrive exactly at eleven forty-five.”
Decoy. He knew what Andie meant-the female agent disguised as Sydney Bennett, the bait who would lure Merselus into the trap. Jack’s head was already filled with worry, but Andie’s last communication had triggered yet another one, as he couldn’t help but wonder how many times Andie herself had been the decoy in one of her undercover operations.