Chapter02a

 

 

The image of the moving cab looked like a tiny yellow button, weaving through the grid work of streets like an old fashioned Pac Man, hunted not the gaping mouth of law enforcement (which was still unaware of the getaway), but by remote camera of the drone.

Sweat dribbled down his brow, but he could not lift his hand to wipe it.

Was this the moment? Would the voice of command ask him for the coordinates for the strike?

This was a smaller, yet easier target than the hotel.

Less collateral damage. The driver, the passenger, maybe one or two cars, in front and behind, perhaps some pedestrians. But not so much as a hit on the hotel would have, and fewer questions. The ground team would get on the scene quick enough to perhaps make it look like an accident. Or a gas line explosion, compelling silence from the investigators that would surely know better.

He had heard from someone upstream in the communication sessions that a high ranking official was already in place to give them cover whatever they did.

“Are we going after the cab?” he asked, when he could stand the wait no more.

“No,” the voice said on the other end of the line.

“But it’s an easy target. We saw him get in the cab. We know he has the briefcase.”

“We wait for verification,” the voice said. “He called his contact. He’s on his way to meet his contact. We kill them both at the same time. We have a team on the ground.”

“Are they going to kill them?”

“That’s need to know,” the voice said. “If we need strike coordinates from you, we’ll ask.”

And so, he waited, and watched, and wondered.