Chapter 36
COLE
The pickup goes exactly as planned. I watch the capture live, tapping into a Baltimore city security camera we identified weeks ago.
The Sawgrass operatives take advantage of a cross street and an alley, sandwiching Tarasov’s driver between two SUVs.
One man trains a rocket propelled grenade on the windshield while two others begin firing rifle rounds into the bulletproof windows.
Tarasov only decides to take his chances on the street when the man with the RPG stretches his finger toward the trigger.
It takes less than fifteen seconds for Best’s masked men to hood the pakhan, cinching zipties around his wrists and ankles. Tarasov is carried to one of the SUVs, which reverses at high speed down the middle of the block.
The entire operation takes less than two minutes. Video begins showing up on the internet almost immediately, but neither our men nor their vehicles have any identifying characteristics.
With Best at the wheel, the SUV carrying the target follows a well-rehearsed route, making its way to an underground garage near Baltimore’s football stadium.
Clean license plates are attached to the vehicle, front and back, and window stickers are applied, indicating the SUV is owned by a happy family of four with a dog and a cat.
Best makes his way to DC via the interstate, driving ten miles above the speed limit with the rest of traffic.
A parking pass assigned to Pinckney K. Willoughby—a name partner of the law firm on the twelfth floor—gets access to the K Street building’s garage.
A timely power outage temporarily takes out all security cameras in the building, including the ones in the elevators.
The glitch is resolved in under five minutes.
Standing by Megan’s receptionist desk, I watch two Sawgrass men frog-march Tarasov into a soundproofed closet specifically built for the purpose.
They cut the zipties and cuff the pakhan—wrists and ankles—to a steel-tube chair bolted to the floor.
Placing headphones over his hood, they begin playing Metallica at full volume.
“Help yourself to food in the break room,” I say to the muscle as I offer Best a bottle of water. He cracks the seal and takes a long drink before he salutes me with the bottle.
“Any complications?” I ask.
“None. Any idea what his men are doing?”
I shrug. “We aren’t up on their phones. I expect a drive-by at the Georgetown house within the hour.”
“My team is ready.”
“So now we wait,” I say.
“We wait,” he agrees. “My guys will babysit overnight. Go home and get some sleep. This might be your last chance for a while.”
I shake my head. “I’m staying.”
“And Kate?”
“Cameron's bringing her over first thing tomorrow morning. She’ll be behind the two-way when the fun starts.”
Best studies the closet door. If Tarasov is calling for help in there, we can’t hear a whisper.
“You’ve got my number if you need me,” he says.
I tap my phone in my pocket. “I do.”
I walk him out to the elevator bank. When I come back, the Sawgrass guys are eating sandwiches in the break room, playing cards and talking shit. They jump to their feet when I come in for a fresh bottle of water.
“At ease,” I say with a smile. Each man shifts his feet to a stance shoulder-width apart, folding his hands at the small of his back. I expected their reaction to be somewhat more relaxed.
I gesture toward the closet. “Got everything you need?”
“Yes, sir,” says the taller man. “We’ll bring the prisoner a bottle of water and a bucket at twenty-two-hundred. An apple and a bread roll at oh-six-hundred. He’ll be ready for interrogation at oh-nine-hundred.”
As I leave them to their card game, I consider having Cameron bring Kate over now. We can call in Richardson and Bennett, get an early start on questioning.
No.
We have a plan, and we’ll stick with it.
Questioning begins tomorrow.