Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
The Chrysler minivan was still in motion as Court leapt out and began running for the station entrance. He hadn’t taken the time to change clothes during the drive, but the heavy coat he’d worn with his overalls was reversible, and he’d switched it from the blue side to the brown side.
He slowed to pass a group of Metro Police standing around, then followed the signs to the Blue line and made his way to another escalator, picking up speed again when the cops could no longer see him.
He finally arrived at the platform just as the train appeared, and he looked at his phone and saw another text from Zack that had just come through.
Last car. No counter detected.
He quickly tapped out a reply, acknowledging that he understood the woman was still on the train and Zack hadn’t detected countersurveillance.
OK. Get off. Teddy upstairs.
Court headed towards the rear of the train, the doors opened, and he saw Zack exit, heading for the escalators.
The men passed within a dozen feet of one another, but there was no eye contact between them.
Court was too busy scanning down the platform, making sure Ortega did not leave the train, and looking over anyone getting on.
Soon he was on the train himself, in the same car Zack had just vacated. A quick look at those around him put him at ease; he didn’t feel there was anyone here who might be running surveillance on Ortega.
The train left the station; Court moved to a seat where he could see into the last car, and there he saw the woman looking back up in his general direction. He didn’t think for a second he’d been spotted, only that she was alert for anyone watching her.
They stopped at Federal Triangle; Ortega kept her seat, so Court did the same.
Irene Ortega rose and moved near the door, and for a second or two, he thought she was about to get off. He held his seat, ready to bolt onto the platform from the next car himself, but then another woman entered Irene’s car, moved to a seat, and the door closed again.
Court regarded the new woman, and something about her seemed off.
He couldn’t quite get a read on her at this distance, but it was in the way she had moved after encountering Ortega.
It felt to Court like she’d hesitated a moment when she got on the train and saw Ortega right there by the door, before quickly lowering her head and then passing her by.
It wasn’t an obvious tell, but to a guy who had been doing this as long as Court had, it was enough to draw some suspicion.
The new arrival wore business clothes, a nice camel coat, and she held gloves in her hand.
A large leather bag hung off her right shoulder, an umbrella jutting out of it, and her leather boots were low-heel and comfortable-looking, but in keeping with something a woman here in D.C.
might wear when there was a forecast for snow, like today.
Once the woman sat down across from Ortega, she pulled out her phone.
Quickly, just before the doors closed, Court tapped out a text and sent it to the team of three men and two vehicles somewhere up at street level.
Leaving Fed Tri
The entire way to the next stop, Court split his time between looking at the new woman who seemed to have reacted when she saw Ortega, and looking in his own car, even the car beyond his, trying to spot any other countersurveillance.
Just as the conductor announced they were approaching the Smithsonian station, Irene rose, held on to a handrail, then shifted towards the door. The woman sitting across from her glanced her way quickly, but she did not look for long before turning her attention back to her phone.
The door opened at Smithsonian station and Irene Ortega quickly disembarked.
Court left the train himself and headed for the stairs, ignoring the escalator that most passengers took.
Once he was far enough away from the crowd, he spoke for the benefit of those connected to his call.
“We’re off at Smithsonian. Heading up. Both vehicles converge there. ”
After Teddy and Arnold confirmed, he rushed faster up the stairs, made it to the mezzanine level, then saw that Ortega was already exiting through the turnstiles. He followed the crowd, well behind her, then communicated again with Hightower.
“Night Train, you receiving?”
“Affirm. We’re on 14th Street passing the mall, we’re about one mike from that station. Bricklayer is in the work van behind us.”
“Roger,” Court said. “I’ll take the eye at street level and inform.”
—
Court stepped out into the frigid gray afternoon and onto Independence Avenue. He followed the woman to the left; she was twenty-five yards ahead when she crossed 12th Street, and here she passed the National Museum of Asian Art.
An icy wind blew in his face; he leaned into it, pulled his knit cap down lower, and walked on, and in moments he saw Travers pass him on his right in the burgundy Pacifica, with Zack in the front passenger seat.
They continued east, and Court spoke into his earpiece to let them know where the woman was on the sidewalk.
Arnold passed Court a moment later in the big GMC van; Court told him to turn right on L’Enfant Plaza, drive down half a block, and stop.
Travers and Zack had the eye now. Though they had driven past Ortega, they found a place to pull over in front of the General Services Administration Building, and they could monitor her movements from their vehicle.
—
Court had just climbed into the Savana with Arnold when Travers’s voice came over the AirPod.
“Be advised, she just turned left. She’s going into the Hirshhorn Museum.”
Court cocked his head as Arnold pulled back out onto the street, still heading south.
The Hirshhorn was a famous windowless building on Independence Avenue, part of the Smithsonian Institution and full of American modern art. It was donut-shaped, with a courtyard in the middle.
Zack said, “This lady’s taking the afternoon off to enjoy an art exhibit?”
“Not buying it,” Court said. “She’s looking over her shoulder for a tail. She’s not well trained, but she’s definitely up to something.”
“A meet?” Travers asked.
“That would be my guess,” Court replied, and then he told Arnold to head back to the north to drop him off at the museum.
As Arnold drove, however, Court looked down at his clothing.
Blue coveralls, work boots, a heavy brown coat that might fit in in a meatpacking plant but not an art museum.
He knew Travers looked almost the same, and Zack wasn’t even operational, wearing his typical roper boots and a leather bomber jacket.
He said, “Every one of us is going to stick out like a sore thumb in a Smithsonian museum at three fifteen on a weekday.”
Zack replied, “Doesn’t matter. She won’t pick us up.”
“I’m more worried about whoever she’s coming to meet, or anyone surveilling her.” Court looked at Arnold, saw him dressed in a suit and tie with a camel jacket, and he knew the two men were close to the same size.
He thought about taking his logistics coordinator’s clothes so he could slip into the museum, but then he ruled it out. He said, “Guys, we aren’t dressed for an afternoon of art appreciation.”
It was quiet for a second, and then at the same time, Travers and Zack both said the same thing into his earpiece.
“Bricklayer.”
Court understood what they meant, but he was not in agreement. “He doesn’t know how to do—”
Zack cut him off. “In one of those Pelican cases behind you, he’ll know which one, there is a set of charged video surveillance glasses. He was talking about them earlier. Slap those on his eyes, then give him a sixty-second brief on his mission.”
Court looked to Arnold Reyes. “Can you do it?”
“Wear glasses and walk around a museum? Yes, I should be able to do that.” Court detected no sarcasm in the man’s answer, and he found that a little disconcerting.
He shook it off. “You’ve got this.” To the rest of the team he said, “We’re a go.
We’ll park near the Hirshhorn and he’ll go in.
I want Teddy to dismount, Night Train behind the wheel and driving around the area.
Look for anyone out of place. If someone’s followed her in there, then they’re just as interested in her as we are. Don’t get compromised.”
Court crawled into the back of the van, and as Arnold drove, he directed him to the right black Pelican case from the several back there.
From it, Court pulled out a set of clear Ray-Bans that felt a little heavy but seemed to be normal in every other way.
As he retook his seat, he said, “Okay, try to get close to her, wherever she is in the building; do a sweep of anyone she meets with, but do not press your luck.”
“Got it,” he said, and then he pulled into an open spot almost in front of the Hirshhorn.
Court handed Arnold the glasses and immediately saw that this in extremis plan of his to use the logistics coordinator on a surveillance operation had a couple of flaws in it.
For one, Arnold had never served operationally on a surveillance team. He looked a little bewildered and nervous, though he made no protest to the new plan.
But the greatest flaw with this scheme, it became clear to Court now, was that Arnold already wore glasses, and they were clearly not for reasons of aesthetics.
He took off the thick eyeglasses he wore normally, put on the Ray-Bans, then immediately took them off again.
“Problem?” Court asked.
“I…I just am used to my own glasses. These don’t have my correction.”
Court said, “Do your best, man. Just walk around, look at the art, and—”
“I can’t see the art. I’ll be lucky if I can see the front door.”
“Shit.” Court rubbed perspiration from his forehead. “Are you legally blind without your glasses?”
“I…I don’t know. Nobody has ever told me I’m blind, but I definitely can’t—”
“Then you’re fine.” Court patted him on the shoulder. “Just try not to stumble into a Picasso.”
With the glasses still off, Arnold said, “I’ll try.
I have to set these up.” For the next thirty seconds he turned on the glasses, made sure there was no light on the frames indicating that the streaming feature was on, then connected the video stream with everyone already on the conference call.
Jill came over the call to say she wouldn’t be able to run facial recog with the resolution from the stream, but Arnold confirmed that the glasses were also recording in HD, so once he got them back to the safe house, she could get the image quality she needed.
This all taken care of, Arnold put the glasses on, fumbled for the door handle to get out of the Savana, then slid out into the frigid afternoon.
Court climbed out the other side and caught up with Arnold on the sidewalk. “You can see a little, right?”
“A little, yes,” Arnold said, and then he headed for the entrance to the museum while Court walked off to the left.
Hanley’s going to kick my ass for this, Court thought as he headed west on the sidewalk.