was the hunter, not the quarry. She’d never actually had to break free of surveillance. But how hard could it be?
She supposed she was about to find out.
“Keep the phone on,” she added. “Let me know once you’ve gotten onto Glenoaks. Oh, and remember rule number one of countersurveillance. No looking over your shoulder. That’s what the rearview mirror is for. If you start looking around in an obvious way, they’ll know you’re onto them.”
“I wouldn’t even know what to look for.”
“That’s fine. Just assume they’re tracking you. They may be behind or ahead or on parallel streets-probably all of the above.”
“Behind and ahead?”
“Most likely. They’ll be bookending you. Standard procedure, if they have enough vehicles.”
“Then how can I possibly get away?”
“Piece of cake. Just do as I say. I’ve got it all worked out.”
A few minutes passed. Abby spent the time navigating to Glenoaks Boulevard, where she parked at the curb and watched the traffic stream by. Andrea’s voice came over the phone again.
“Okay, I’m driving southeast on Glenoaks.”
“Tell me the next cross street you pass.”
“I’m coming up to it now. Corcoran Street.”
That was approximately a half mile northwest of where Abby was parked. “Call out each cross street as you pass it. I’m going to pull in somewhere behind you as you pass Filmore Street. Remember, don’t look for me.”
“God, I hope I don’t screw this up.”
“You’re handling the assignment like a pro.” This was true. Andrea was doing better than Abby had expected.
She waited as Andrea announced each new street in turn: Vaughn, Eustace, Paxton, Montford. As she said Filmore, the Chevy Malibu swept past Abby in the slow lane. She let a few more cars drive by before pulling away from the curb. Ahead, she could see the Chevy.
“Got you in sight. Everything’s hunky-dory. Just keep going for a while.”
“What do I do then?”
“Don’t worry about the future. Be in the moment. Countersurveillance is a Zen thing.”
The next few blocks went smoothly enough. Abby almost got caught at a stoplight at Van Nuys Boulevard but blew through it as the signal cycled from yellow to red. Last thing she needed was to be redboarded right now.
She knew that the undercover Bureau cars must be all around her, keeping Andrea in a surveillance net. She made no effort to identify them. For undercover work the Bureau could use anything from an ambulance to a VW bug. The agents could be alone or in pairs, and could be of any description. She wouldn’t catch them talking into their radios, because the microphone would be hidden in the windshield visor or held below the dash.
Though she liked to talk down the feebies, the truth was that they were good at shadowing a moving target. Even so, they didn’t scare her. Not much, anyhow. They might be good, but she was better. She was always better. Better than everybody. This was her philosophy, and it had kept her alive so far.
Up ahead she saw the landmark she was looking for. “See that car wash? It’s one of those drive-through deals. Turn in there and get on line. I’ll be right behind you.”
“We’re getting our cars washed?”
“Yes, we are. I hope you brought some money. It costs seven ninety-five. And don’t get the hot wax, please.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me on this. You’ll thank me later.”
“What are we doing, Abby? This doesn’t make sense.”
“All will become clear, Grasshopper.”
The Chevy turned obediently into the parking lot and joined a short line of drivers waiting to pay their money and take a ride through the car wash. Abby pulled in behind Andrea’s car. She checked her rearview.
The only possible hitch in her otherwise flawless plan would be if one of the surveillance vehicles decided to join the line also. She was betting that none would; following Andrea into the car wash would be too conspicuous.
Since no one pulled in behind Abby, it seemed her gamble had paid off. She inched forward as the line advanced. Ahead, she saw Andrea roll down her window and pay. Her car was guided forward onto the rails and towed into the tunnel, veiled by a mist of spray.
Abby paid next, then put her car in neutral as the towline engaged. She eased along the rails, the Chevy a blurred white shape two yards ahead.
She spoke into the cell phone again. “Okay, take off your wig and leave it on the seat. Get out and switch cars with me.”
“Switch cars?”
“That’s the plan. Ingenious in its simplicity, don’t you think?”
“We’ll get soaked.”
“Small price to pay for freedom. Let’s go. And hold on to your phone.”
Abby didn’t wait for an answer. She threw open her car door and stepped out. The car continued to crawl forward through the artificial downpour.
For a moment, in the windowless darkness, battered by rain, she flashed back to the Rain Man case-the storm drains under the city, where she and Tess had nearly drowned. But the memory was gone almost before it registered.
She ran toward the Chevy and met Andrea halfway. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t get the hot wax?” Abby shouted over the roar. She hoped she saw Andrea smile, but in the gloom she couldn’t be sure.
Ahead, large foaming brushes were descending to wipe the Chevy. Abby ducked into the driver’s seat and slammed the door before the nearest brush could swab her.
In the few seconds she had spent in the spray, she’d been thoroughly drenched. She cranked up the Chevy’s heater to full blast.
Looking back, she saw the dim outline of her Mazda. Movement in the front seat. Andrea was behind the wheel.
“When you leave the car wash, Abby said into her phone, “head east on the surface streets. I’ll tell you where to meet me once I shake off my pursuit.”
“You sure this’ll work?” Andrea asked.
“Abso-tively. These FBI people aren’t as smart as they like to pretend.”
She hoped this was true.
As the Chevy advanced into the hot air blowers, Abby stuck the blond wig on her head and patted it down. Water from her sopping hair dribbled out from under the wig and tickled her neck.
There was really no reason why the plan should fail. The interior of the car wash was dark and misty and obscured by moving equipment. No one would have a clear view of the inside from any likely vantage point, nor would the feds be looking inside anyway. They would be waiting until the Chevy emerged. When it did, driven by a woman in a blond wig, they would take up the chase again. They would never even notice the red Mazda.
The blowers receded into the background, the towline uncoupled, and Abby shifted the Chevy into drive and started forward, not hurrying. She waited at the curb for a break in the traffic, then turned right and blended with the stream of vehicles on Glenoaks.
By now the trigger-the surveillance operative with the best view of the car wash-would have radioed the rest of his squad, who would be executing a follow. Standard procedure in FBI vehicular surveillance was a floating box formation, a constantly shifting arrangement of vehicles arrayed behind, in front of, and parallel to the target.
Only one vehicle at a time, known as the command vehicle, would maintain direct visual contact. The others would assume command periodically as the target executed turns. If Abby made a left turn, an outrider vehicle somewhere on her left would follow and take point in the pursuit. If she turned right, a right-side outrider would do the same. Should she flip a U, one of the vehicles behind her would turn onto a side street, make a quick K-urn, and fall in behind her as she passed by. Take a side street, and her surveillance would pace her on parallel streets.
The idea was for the feds to keep the target contained without giving themselves away. Five or six cars
