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Rapp leapt off, letting the motorcycle roll into a mailbox before flipping on its side. A crowd immediately started to gather and he could see the gray-and-tan shape of a cop running in his direction.
Rapp’s first instinct was to go for the crowd. In his experience, the first few rows of people would offer token resistance, but the ones behind would just be following the herd. They would have no idea what was happening or who was involved.
As he got closer, though, it became clear that the cop was a good thirty pounds overweight, jogging awkwardly with an assault rifle clutched in front of his ample stomach. It would be a miracle if he could run a fifteen-minute mile without dropping dead, while Rapp could cover that distance in a third of the time.
Satisfied that there would be no serious pursuit, Rapp turned away from the expanding mob and began sprinting toward their target’s last reported position.
“I’m on foot,” he said into his throat mike. “Coming up on Okara.”
“Are you all right?” Coleman asked. “What happened?”
“Yes, and don’t ask. Mas? Where are you? My GPS is still on the bike. I’m running blind.”
“On my way. We’re pushing it as hard as we can, Mitch.”
Rapp glanced behind him and confirmed that the cop was standing motionless on the sidewalk, bent at the waist and trying to catch his breath.
“I’m still on Satayana,” Coleman said. “Try not to be too late for the party, huh, Mitch?”
CHAPTER 13
“I’VE reacquired the target,” a voice said over Scott Coleman’s earpiece. “It’s entering a warehouse on the corner of Haali and Qaim using bay doors on the southwest side.”
“Copy that,” Coleman said, glancing down at the GPS on his bars. It was being updated remotely, and a few seconds later he had routing. “I’m about two minutes out. Can you keep eyes on?”
“That’s a negative,” the spotter responded. “They’re closing the doors. I’ll watch this entrance but I’m guessing there’s another one on the other side of the building.”
In fact, it was almost certain there was, Coleman knew. The likely scenario was that the driver had been paid to divert to the warehouse and that al Badr would have men there to unload the nuke. If Coleman had been running their operation, he’d have at least five cars parked inside and he’d roll them all out at the same time. One transport and four decoys.
On the other hand, it was possible that the warehouse itself was a decoy. That they were just routing through it in an effort to shake anyone who might be tailing.
“Roger that. Hold your position,” Coleman said. “I’m less than a minute now. Can we bring in more surveillance?”
?
??We have three people inbound, but ETAs are unknown.”
It was impossible to estimate transit times if you were much more than a mile out. Traffic followed no discernible pattern, delivery vehicles regularly shut down entire roads during unloading, and accidents were more the rule than the exception.
Not that his lack of backup mattered all that much. None of these people were shooters.
Coleman cut down an alley, slowing to not much more than five miles an hour as he weaved through the annoyed pedestrians. When he came out on the other side, the warehouse was straight ahead. It looked like it took up the entire block, with huge, mostly broken windows that started about fifteen feet up and terminated near the roof.
He was coming in from the opposite direction of the spotter. A set of bay doors was visible, so at minimum, the north and south sides had egress points large enough for the truck.
“I’m on location,” Coleman said, pulling the bike between two parked cars and shutting it down.
“Copy that,” he heard Rapp say breathlessly. “Mas, where the fuck are you?”
“Should be coming over your position in a few seconds.”
“Copy.”
“Keep me apprised,” Coleman said. “I’m going to take a look.”
He kept his helmet on as he crossed the busy street, moving as quickly as he could without attracting attention. The headgear was hot as hell but this wasn’t exactly a tourist area and his blond hair would stand out like a sore thumb. Undoubtedly, he’d take shit from Rapp over that in the post-op debriefing.
The bay doors were secured with a massive padlock that was hanging about eight feet above the sidewalk. There was no way it could be opened from inside, and based on the rust, it was questionable whether it could be opened at all. He decided to slip into the alley running between the east side of the warehouse and the windowless building next to it.
