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Justine watched Tate creep toward the back door on the driver’s side, his gun high, reaching for the handle.
He grabbed it and pulled the door open.
“It’s empty,” he said, stepping back. “Empty. He’s not here.”
“Impossible,” Mo-bot muttered from the back seat. “We saw him get in the vehicle.”
The sound of sirens made Justine jump. The road rapidly filledwith airport police. A convoy of eight vehicles, engines roaring, sped toward the Escalade. Tires screeched as they shuddered to a halt.
“Drop your weapons,” the officer in charge yelled as he leapt from his car.
He was soon joined by his colleagues, who drew their pistols and targeted Tate and his team.
“We’re diplomats,” the prostrate driver yelled. “These men are terrorists who have illegally detained us.”
“Brilliant,” Sci remarked. “They probably knew we were watching them. Led Tate and his people into a trap. They’ve made sure Angel gets away and created a diplomatic incident China can exploit.”
“So he’s gone?” Justine asked, as she watched Tate place his weapon on the ground and raise his hands.
His team followed suit.
“Looks that way,” Sci replied, as the cops moved in to cuff Tate and his team. “I don’t know how they did it, but Angel is in the wind.”
CHAPTER 82
THEY SAT IN the Nissan Rogue a couple of hundred yards north of Tate and his team, who were in the process of being arrested. Justine was despondent to think that the man who’d caused them so much harm would go free, and when she looked at Sci she saw he shared her feelings.
Mo-bot was busy in the back, tapping away on her laptop, while further along Port Road, the police took custody of Tate and his team.
“I know how they did it,” Mo-bot said, turning her laptop so Justine and Sci could see. She zoomed in on one of the screens in the operations room at Federal Plaza. “This is from the camera I placed in the ops room. The resolution is terrible because I’m really zoomed in, but look what the dashcam of Tate’s vehicle picks up when they stop at this intersection on Route Nine.”
Justine peered at the screen but just saw the silver Escalade in a line of traffic.
“I don’t see anything,” she admitted.
“I got it,” Sci said.
“Look at the gap between the lines of vehicles to the left of the Escalade,” Mo-bot suggested as she rewound the video.
She pressed play and Justine kept her eyes fixed on the shadowy space between two blurry lines of traffic. And then she saw it: a ghost figure moving between the two streams of vehicles, crouching and furtive, running quickly from one line to the other.
“He switched vehicles,” Mo-bot said. “They must have had another one shadowing them.”
“Or a number of them,” Sci suggested.
“And the cops on speed dial to ensure there was a big scene, so Tate and his people couldn’t pick up another trail,” Mo-bot added.
“You think Angel made the flight?” Justine asked.
Mo-bot shook her head. “I don’t think they’d risk it. If they knew they were being watched, they’ll know we know about the flight and would be likely to stop it.”
“Back to the embassy?” Justine suggested.
Mo-bot considered the idea. “I don’t think so. They won’t want to do this again. Besides, we’re weakened. Tate is down and we’re blind. This is the best time to get him out. I think there’s another flight.”
“From where?” Sci asked.
“It won’t be from here. Not with all this heat around,” Mo-bot remarked, gesturing at the police presence up ahead. “Go back toward the Expressway.”
