The last charge he had made on Waller’s Visa was in the outskirts of Fredericksburg, just before leaving the motel. He knew Waller and Haviland would pay a visit there, questioning the clerk who had put the card through. But Payne had purposely asked about Union Station — how often Amtrak runs; if he left at five in the evening, what time would he arrive in New York City’s Penn Station; where you buy the tickets; how much they cost. Even though the clerk did not have a clue to most of the answers, it did not matter — the purpose was to plant the information with him so that when Waller and Haviland went fishing, they’d hook a big one.
Regardless of whether they thought it was a ruse, he knew they would have to check it out. The extra detail of reserving a seat on an Amtrak Metroliner for five-thirty this evening was a nice touch, he thought — but again, meaningless if they were wise to his motives.
As a safeguard, he had sold Waller’s Visa card to a shady-looking character twenty miles up the freeway at a rest stop. Hopefully, the perp would have a ball and charge up a houseful of items, essentially driving Waller and Haviland out of their minds as they tried to figure out what he was up to.
Payne wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead and focused on the dark Crown Victoria that was passing by on Princess Anne and turning left in front of him onto George Street.
The navy Crown Victoria cruised down William Street, a couple of blocks from George. As it passed Hector DeSantos’s Mustang, DeSantos checked his mirror and nodded. “Looks like everyone’s in position.”
“I never understood why the Bureau always buys the same cars for their undercover fleet,” Archer said. “Perps aren’t as stupid as we always want them to be.”
“Especially in this case, when the perps are a pro and an ex-agent.”
“We don’t make the decisions.”
“No, we just do what we’re told to do and collect our paychecks.”
“Since when do you ‘do what you’re told to do’?”
DeSantos shrugged. “Guess that means I just collect my paycheck.” He turned right at the next street, his eyes roaming the vicinity for signs of Payne or Scarponi. “Anything?”
“Nothing. But at least we’ve confirmed where everyone else is and made a pass of the area. It’s been a few years since I’ve been here.” Archer glanced at his watch, then subconsciously patted his shoulder harness, making sure his Browning nine-millimeter was there. “Circle around and drop me off near Princess Anne. It’s almost time.”
Lauren walked up the street, passing a Merrill Lynch investment office and an alley that opened into a parking lot. Another few seconds and she arrived at the columned, four-story Princess Anne Building, the location Michael had chosen for their meeting. She climbed the eight steps and stood on the semicircular veranda in front of the main entrance to the building, four white columns surrounding her like centurions standing guard.
Lauren looked down the street to her left, then removed her right glove for a moment before replacing it. It was a signal to Nick Bradley, who was sitting two blocks away in their rental, that all was okay.
Her left hand found its way down to her black, ballistic nylon fanny pack, which she had purchased at a gun shop on her way back to the motel two days ago. From the exterior, it looked like the typical run-of-the-mill pouch that strapped to one’s waist. In reality, it was a gun holster: it had a Velcro strip that ran the entire length of its front pocket, providing her with instant access to the firearm with a single flick of her wrist. Feeling the Colt inside, she leaned against one of the columns, secure in the thought that she could defend herself if something went wrong.
As the sun set, she looked out over the street, folded her arms across her chest, and waited.
59
Waller turned right onto Princess Anne and stopped the car two blocks from the rendezvous point. They continued on foot, looking a lot like the locals, wearing jeans and winter coats, knit caps with the Washington Redskins logo embroidered across the front, and tennis shoes.
As an added precaution, Waller also sported a mustache and black-rimmed glasses. Haviland, fitted with a thick beard, used a slow, shuffling gait to complete his disguise. With Payne supposedly in the vicinity, Waller wanted to make sure they were not easily identified.
A moment later, they stopped walking. Haviland surveyed the street in front of them while Waller glanced off in the opposite direction. “I see her,” he said, elbowing his partner. Haviland indicated Lauren Chambers with a nod of his head.
Waller adjusted his earpiece and spoke into his lapel microphone. “Located Target A.”
“Roger that,” came the response. “We’re stable and holding our position. No sighting of Target B.”
Haviland turned to Waller. “Why don’t you head toward that pottery shop across the street. I’ll stay back at this end of the block, keep a wide-angle view of things.” It was a minor alteration of their plan, but after having seen the layout of the buildings in the flesh, the change made sense.
Waller nodded, received confirmation of the squad’s approval, and pulled the front of his cap down as he trudged up the street in a leisurely manner. He threw occasional glances into the storefronts in an effort to appear like an ordinary citizen browsing the numerous antiques and fashion shops for bargains.
Each step brought him closer to Lauren Chambers. And, he hoped, to Harper Payne.
“There she is, the wife.” DeSantos nodded at Lauren Chambers standing a block and a half away. He parked at the curb and his eyes combed the street. “No sign of Scarponi or Payne with show time approaching.”
“That’s Jonathan Waller, isn’t it?” Archer asked, indicating a spot twenty feet away.
“Hard to tell. According to the photos and stuff you pulled up on everyone in the op, I’d say maybe.”
“Sure looks like him. But he’s out of position.”
DeSantos shook his head. “Like I said last night, bro, this is going to get all fucked up.”
“We make do with what we’ve got. No guarantees in this biz.”
“I can’t believe Knox left us so goddamn bare. We’re probably being watched right now. And nobody’s got any idea who we are.”
“Nobody ever knows who we are. That’s what makes us so effective.”
DeSantos nodded, but felt uneasy about the entire mission. He knew they had to improvise and think on the fly — he had no problems with that. It was the way this thing had been thrown together, with little preparation and even less intelligence. He couldn’t escape the feeling in his bones that something bad was going to happen. It wasn’t something he could articulate, even to Archer. Whatever it was, though, his intuitions were usually accurate.
“I’ll get as close to the wife as I can,” Archer said, pulling a newspaper from his briefcase. “Now that I see where she’s at, I’ll take a seat on that brick wall and read. Whoever sees Scarponi first will signal the other.” He moved his mouth down toward his jacket collar and spoke into it. “Testing, testing. Do you copy?”
DeSantos touched his earpiece. “Yeah, I copy. Look, how about we both go. Instead of splitting up, we huddle together, play it like we’re standing and talking—”
“Now’s not the time to change our plans, Hector. We go with what we have, it’s a decent setup. I’ll be near Chambers and you’ll be on the roof of the bank, letting me know if something bad is going down.”