He had to make it seem like no one was ever here, because it was looking extremely likely that this area was going to be crawling with police in a few minutes.
—
The right hand of the man behind the wheel of the Audi was down low, out of Travers’s view, and Chris assumed that to mean there was a pistol in it, and it was pointed his way.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to put your hands on the steering wheel.” Shining the light on the other man, he said, “You, hands on the dash.”
He tried to speak calmly; he knew he couldn’t look amped up right now, it would just alert these guys that something else was going on beyond a law enforcement officer checking on suspicious people.
“Who the hell are you?” the driver asked.
“Already told you. Homeland Security. We’re investigating—”
“What’s your badge number?”
Travers pulled a string of bullshit out of thin air. “Seventy-eight, thirty-nine. Arlington office.”
“Nice try, asshole. I was Homeland. Feds don’t have to give badge numbers or stations.”
“Well then,” Travers said, “I can see why you’re no longer employed. I was just being courteous. You should give that a shot yourself. Both of you, show me those hands. I’m not going to ask a third time.”
The driver’s eyes narrowed slightly. To Travers the man looked extremely confident and calm. With a chuckle, he said, “You’renot? So…what? You’re going to shoot us if we don’t? What kind of traffic stop is this?”
Travers realized these guys weren’t buying what he was selling, so he decided to drop the ruse. “The kind of traffic stop that involves detaining the two assholes in a getaway car waiting for an assassin to kill a woman on the eighth floor of this building to my left.”
The façade of the driver wavered slightly as his eyes widened back up.
Travers continued. “I know you guys are Gauntlet, and I am assuming you’re providing perimeter security to the son of a bitch in there trying to kill Irene Ortega. Maybe somebody told you this was righteous government work, maybe you genuinely don’t know what that dude is up to, or maybe you just don’t give a shit that a woman’s about to die. Don’t know, don’t care. I can’t stop that guy up there, but me and my colleagues downhere sure as shit can stop you and your buddies in the SUV on New Hampshire from getting away with your part in it.”
The driver bit his lip, looked all around. “Yeah? I don’t see your colleagues. I’m thinking you’re alone.”
Travers said, “Nah, bro. I drew the short straw to come down here and try to talk you out of this. The rest of the team are on balconies across the street, and they’ve got their scopes on all your foreheads right now.”
The man in the passenger side muttered, “Jesus Christ.” And he put his hands on the dashboard. To the driver, he said, “I’m not dying for this bullshit, Kyle.”
“He’s fucking bluffing,” the driver said, and Travers saw that the man’s cool demeanor was no put-on at all. He did not believe Travers’s ruse, and he wasnotgoing to comply.
—
Eight floors above, Spiral headed up the hall to Ortega’s door; he was twenty seconds away. Softly, he called the Expedition. “Three. Status?”
When he got no answer, he called One in the Audi. “One. Status?”
Again, there was no response.
His support team was dealing with law enforcement on the street, but he had no reason to think law enforcement was aware of him, here, eight floors above.
The Americans would have to deal with their problems. Even if he lost all his support below, he’d be long gone from the scene by the time there was any response up here to Ortega’s place.
As he approached the door, he thought about ringing the bell, but he didn’t think about it for long. Ortega wasn’t going to let a stranger with a Belarusian accent into her condo willingly, at least not without a good story, and he didn’t want to take the time to concoct one in case more cops were soon to show up.
This had to happen now, considering the complications downstairs. It was inevitable that this hit would get messy, so he leaned into the mess, made the decision to go loud.
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small C-4 breaching chargenot much larger than a box of playing cards, tore the cover off the adhesive on one side of it, and affixed the explosive between the latch and the doorjamb.
He pressed a tiny blasting cap into the device, unspooled the wire connected to it, and stepped to the side, out of the way of the threshold.
Now he attached the wire to a detonator, pushed himself up against the wall two meters from the door, and pressed a button on the device.
