It seemed like a bad plan, but Spiral’s plan, to earn over five million dollars U.S. in the next three days, seemed to him like a damn good one, so he trudged on towards the building directly in front of him.
He’d be inside the lobby in just a minute, he’d be done with this target within fifteen minutes, and he’d be out of the area shortly thereafter.
—
Court Gentry and Chris Travers stepped out the front door of the Hotel AKA Washington Circle together, then immediately split up. Travers went to his right, turned right again at 23rd Street NW, then began heading up to L Street. In the elevator on the way down from the suite, it had been decided that Travers would move behind the Audi, the closer of the two vehicles parked near Ortega’s building, and he’d get the tag number and, if possible, get a head count and the disposition of the occupants inside it.
Court went left at the front door, then left again on New Hampshire. This would take him past the entrance to the Carriage House Condominium building, just beyond which there was a covered vehicle entrance and a loading dock. His only mandate from Hanley was to get to street level, but he decided on his own he’d move into this garage. From there he would have a couple of options to ascend towards Ortega if necessary, and he’d also have some cover from whoever was in the blacked-out Ford Expedition across the street.
He’d be in plain view of the Ford for most of his entire movement on the sidewalk, and anyone in the vehicle would be looking right at him as he went down into the darkened loading area between the Carriage House and the Ritz-Carlton, but he liked his chances at remaining covert, as long as he maintained a nonchalant gait to avoid arousing suspicion.
He did his best to move along on the street like any other person out on a frigid night like this, and in so doing he looked around at other pedestrians. There were a couple of dog walkers, a young college-aged person jogging in front of the Ritz-Carlton just beyond the Carriage House, and a lone man with the lower part of his face covered by a scarf crossing thestreet in front of him and heading to the front door of the Carriage House. Court tracked him as the doorman held the door open for him, then kept it open for a woman leading a rust-colored toy poodle on its leash.
The doorman began speaking with the lady with the dog, and the man by himself disappeared into the lobby of the Carriage House, out of Court’s view.
Softly, into his earpiece, he said, “Gumdrop, you get a look at that guy that went in?”
“Negative,” she replied. “His lower face was covered, and a hood shielded his forehead. He appeared alone on L Street, on foot from the east, and he didn’t seem to be acting weird or anything.”
Court turned left into the loading bay between the Carriage House and the Ritz, and he hoped he didn’t seem to be acting “weird or anything’’ himself.
He said, “Try and track him on the cams inside the building.”
“I’m watching him move towards the elevators, and the woman with the dog is still talking to—”
“Forget poodle lady. Focus on shady dude.”
Hanley’s voice came over the net. “You see something wrong, Six?”
“Just being thorough.”
“Copy.”
Twenty-Eight
Two minutes earlier Zack Hightower unlocked the GMC Savana in the parking garage, climbed into the back, and took a quick inventory of the bags and cases stacked there. Arnold had brought most of the equipment up to the hotel suite, but here in a cluster of padlocked boxes, Hightower knew he’d find what he was looking for. He pulled one Pelican case free from a stack, knocking the others over, and jammed a key into the lock.
Opening it in the low light, he knew he had the right one. Two full uniforms for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, one for Court and one for Travers, along with utility belts, soft body armor, face coverings, and Glock 19 duty pistols with Trijicon sights.
Zack grabbed one of the guns, checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber and the magazine was full, and then he put it to the side while he dressed in the ICE uniform. Once this was done, he put the pistol into the holster on his duty belt, then climbed up behind the wheel.
The van was frigid, but he didn’t turn over the engine. Instead, he just spoke into his earpiece.
“Night Train is in position.”
His left leg was stiff; he’d done more today physically tailing Ortega and hustling down here to get in the van than he’d done since he’d been shot. It wasn’t a sharp pain he was feeling; it was more like a body that needed to get used to work again, so he didn’t worry about it.
He did, however, worry a little about Hanley, and a little about the gun on his hip.
Hanley hadn’t wanted him armed in D.C. Both Travers and Court would be carrying micro compact pistols on their persons; in Court’s case it was a Glock 43, in Chris’s case a P365-XL, but until Zack returned to operational status, he wasn’t allowed to have a gun. His trusty Staccato P4 was back at his apartment in Boulder, and since he didn’t know what the fuck was going on tonight here around the home of Irene Ortega, he’d simply helped himself to one of the G19 pistols the assets had on hand in case they needed to dress themselves to look like ICE agents.
Zack’s first choice would not have been the Glock 19, but it was uber reliable, and it was also the new duty gun of ICE, so it did fit his outfit.
He smiled a little to himself now, realizing this had been Court’s plan all along. Court had known there were guns in the van, and he knew that Hightower knew. By ordering him to haul ass down here to serve as some sort of potential wheel man, Court hadn’t been demoting him, he was surreptitiously telling him to go arm himself and get ready.
Court had put Zack in the operation that Hanley had excluded him from.
Now he just sat here in the low light, focusing on any voices in his headset, listening for action or inaction, whatever the case might be.
