Wheeler and I stared at the same monitor inside the HEAT van. We were parked two blocks away from the community center, but we had a perfect view of the parking lot and surrounding streets, thanks to Pasco’s completely legal and warranted tapping of the public security cameras.
The legality of the tiny red camera stitched into Lang’s sweater, which gave us a view inside the community center, was more of a gray area. But we were only observing. Not interfering, Not even recording. Which chapped our hides, but laws are laws. Or so Kat kept reminding us.
The camera showed us the area in front of Lang, including a wide swath of the audience and the stage, and worst of all, the douche canoe that was Howard Anson.
When he said, “If your wealth isn’t healthy, then your health isn’t wealthy,” and the entire crowd repeated the chant five times, I nearly stormed the castle to whisk Savannah to safety, because I’d met my share of zealots and I was not a fan.
“Steady, mate,” Wheeler said.
“What the hell does that even mean?” I muttered. “Do they even think about what they’re mindlessly repeating?”
“It’s a high-control group, Hayes,” Kat said. “And this is arecruiting night and a chance to rub elbows with their guru, so they’ll be on their best behavior.”
“Unless he orders them on to go on a rampage,” I said.
“Calm. The fuck. Down.” Lang whispered into the comms.
I had no choice but to follow his advice because he was the one on the inside, thus he had the advantage of full situational awareness. He had to make the calls on the ground, and I had to fucking deal with it. But just because I trusted Lang to have Savannah’s back didn’t mean I had to like it.
He sat in the seat in the far left corner of the room. It gave him a view of the wide-open meeting room that thankfully didn’t have any hidden blind spots, as well as the attendees. The squeaky door to the room made it easy to track anyone coming or going, but even if it had been silent, Lang had an unobstructed view of that, as well.
I relaxed as I reviewed his choices and found them acceptable. He was a seasoned dog in this hunt, and HEAT operatives are specialists, but they have to cross-train. With such small, tight teams, you never knew when a tac op would have to apply life-saving first aid, or—case in point—a logistician would have to jump into the action.
“This is interesting,” Bloom said. He was in position on a roof three stories up and half a block away from the center. “Check out the parking lot.”
We had several images running at once on the monitor. I tapped the small square that showed the parking lot and enlarged it. There were two women standing several feet away from the building. I was no body language expert like Mai’s tac op partner, but unless someone’s actively attempting to obfuscate their emotions, the strong ones are pretty easy to read. In this case, the message was loud and clear. These women were pissed at each other.
“Can you get us a clearer view?” Kat asked Bloom.
“You got it, boss.”
The camera zoomed in on the women.
“I wish we could get a better view of their lips,” Wheeler said.
“You read lips?” I asked.
“You don’t?” He shook his head like the arrogant Airman he was.
“Hold on.” I leaned closer to the monitor. “That’s Lisa.”
“Zip-tie Lisa?” Wheeler leaned in, too.
“Receptionist Lisa, asshole,” I responded.
“Lisa’s friend is walking toward her car,” Bloom narrated what we were all watching. “Oh, she’s turning around to have more words. Wish we could have gotten a warrant for audio.”
“Don’t get me started,” Pasco grumbled.
“Lisa’s friend is in the car, rolling down the window, more words.”
There was tension in the ranks. That was to be expected, but the two women looked ready to crack. I might be able to widen a crack enough to extract some useful information.
“We don’t have live audio,” I said, “but with a little luck, we could have the next best thing.”
“What’s that?” Kat asked.
“A hot wash.” When they were silent, I clarified, “An after-action debriefing.”
