Vogel climbed the three slate steps in front of Wiley’s front door and rang the bell.
The door opened after a moment, and the same uniformed housemaid let him in.
I hit a speed dial button on my phone, which connected to the phone number on the SIM card in the infinity transmitter. It didn’t ring. After a few seconds, I could hear faint voices. Then I heard the maid’s voice.
“Wiley will be right down. May I bring you some coffee or tea?”
“Coffee would be great.” A booming baritone.
“Please have a seat. Mrs. Wiley likes to sit in that chair, so maybe the one next to it?”
Then, much louder, Vogel’s voice: “Thank you, ma’am.”
Then silence.
At the same time, I kept watch on the white Escalade. The driver was talking on a cell phone. I hadn’t expected a driver. This was too bad, because I’d brought a GPS tracker to affix to the car, and now I wouldn’t have a chance.
Then I heard Ellen Wiley’s voice, also loud and clear. “Mister Vogel, I’m Ellen Wiley.”
“Nice to meet you. Tom Vogel.”
“Stephen speaks very highly of Centurion.”
“He’s a valued client. My card.”
“Oh, metal! How clever. You could cut yourself with this thing.”
“It doubles as a self-defense tool,” Vogel said, and the two of them laughed.
I couldn’t see the license plate on the Escalade, so I studied the rear exterior for any markings that would help me later on. There didn’t seem to be any. The vehicle looked new. There were no scuff marks or dents, as far as I could tell at this distance. No stickers or decals. Non-tinted windows.
Wiley and Vogel talked. He asked about her homes, and she told him about her art collection. He asked her about any thefts she might have sustained. “We’re not like any other security firm you might have heard about,” Vogel said. “There are plenty of good security and guarding firms — Triple Canopy, Aegis Defence Services, Pinkerton, Securitas — any of the top-tier ones. Well, we do VIP protection, but we’re different. The thing you’ve got to understand is — we take care of problems. You want security guards? Hire security guards. You want a rent-a-cop? Rent a cop. We’re not about patrolling a beat. You get me? We play offense, not defense. We don’t stand at a wall and protect you from trouble. We make the trouble go away. It’s a very... specialized skill set. If you’ve talked to your friend Brookhiser, then I assume you have some sense of what we deliver. Problem solving. Taking care of issues so they don’t... exist anymore. And if I’m talking myself out of a job, so be it. It is what it is. What we do, it isn’t for everyone. Not everybody has the need for it. Not everybody has the stomach for it, frankly. Mrs. Wiley, tell me this is making you the slightest bit uncomfortable, and I’ll leave you in peace right now. This meet never happened.”
After thirty-five minutes, Vogel emerged from Wiley’s front door. I watched him descend the three steps and walk the seventy-five feet to the white Escalade and get in. Vogel and his driver chatted for about a minute. Then the Escalade pulled away from the curb and began making its way down N Street.
And I began to follow.
65
The trickiest part of a mobile surveillance is the very beginning. Start rolling too soon and the vehicle you’re following will make you. You’ll be burned even before you start. On the other hand, take too long to roll and you risk losing the target.
I’d waited until the Escalade was almost at the end of the block before moving. It turned right onto Thirtieth Street, and I followed. Thirtieth Street was two-way but narrow, with cars parked on either side. I tried to hang back, but even after slowing my speed, the Escalade was waiting at a long light at M Street. I pulled up immediately behind it.
I had no choice.
Now I’d have to disappear from view at some point soon.
I noticed the vehicle’s Virginia license plate and snapped a quick picture of it on my phone. Then the light turned green and the Escalade turned left, without signaling. M Street is fairly heavily trafficked, or was at that time of day. I turned left, too, and saw the Escalade up ahead. I slowed, pulled over as if double-parking, and waited for a few cars to pull ahead of me. When I could still see the Escalade, I swung back into traffic.
For several blocks, heading east, I kept a few cars between me and Vogel. We went over a bridge that spanned Rock Creek Parkway, taking us out of Georgetown and into the West End. The Escalade bore right onto Pennsylvania Avenue. I did, too, several cars behind, and soon we came to Washington Circle at Twenty-fourth Street, with George Washington University Hospital on the right. Traffic circles were a good place to lose a tail.
But the Escalade did not appear to be trying to lose me, which suggested that Vogel’s driver didn’t realize I was following. Which was good.
Washington Circle has traffic lights at every corner, which is annoying. Theoretically they’re synced, but nobody knows what they’re synced to.
In fact, Washington, DC, was deliberately designed to make it difficult for an invading army to move quickly from one side of the city to another, and to this day the traffic reflects that. Now a black Jeep was the only vehicle between us. That was fine with me. It provided cover.
At Nineteenth Street we bore left onto H Street, along with the rest of the traffic, because Pennsylvania Avenue is now closed to traffic in front of the White House. The White House was visible on my right, through Lafayette Park. On the left were St. John’s Church and the Hay-Adams Hotel.
So far the surveillance was going smoothly.
Then, on H Street, an SUV barreled out of a parking garage immediately in front of me, without braking or signaling. I slammed on the brakes and cursed the guy. Living in Boston, I’m used to bad, or aggressive, drivers, but this was a close call. I veered around the SUV just in time to see the white Escalade turning left onto New York Avenue. I made it through the next set of traffic lights, but just barely. We passed the old Greyhound bus terminal, still recognizable even though it was undergoing construction to become an office building, like just about every other building in that part of town.
As we passed Twelfth Street, we entered Washington’s small Chinatown. The FedEx Office sign was half in Chinese, though not many Chinese people lived here anymore. When the light turned green, the Escalade jogged left on Sixth Street, then right on K. I maintained a good distance from Vogel’s vehicle, with two cars between us. I could afford to stay that far back as long as the Escalade was going straight.
I began to wonder where Vogel was going. We’d passed through the part of the city that most people consider downtown, which was the likeliest location for an office, I figured. Now we were entering a sketchier area. On the north side was Capitol Hill. I wondered if Vogel was heading to the Capitol, maybe to the Senate or House office buildings. But the white SUV kept going, into Northeast, still a few car lengths ahead of me. I still hadn’t been made, as far as I could tell.
Then the Escalade came to a traffic light as it was turning yellow. It barreled right through the intersection, and the Audi right in front of me braked.
I was trapped on the wrong side of the light. The Escalade kept going straight.
On my right was a Citgo station, situated right at the southeast corner of the intersection. I swung into the gas station, cut through the lot, turned left and then right, and I was able to catch a glimpse of a white vehicle halfway up the block. I accelerated, wove through traffic, and confirmed that it was Vogel’s Escalade.