“I see her.” From across the street, Eve focused the field glasses through the narrow glass on the restaurant door. “Rear booth, west corner. She’s got Weaver boxed in. Male, brown and brown, late forties, seated on the other side of the booth.”
“Yeah, I got them.” Lowenbaum scanned, judging the crowd, the movement. He glanced left, right. Cops already worked to close off the block, reroute street and foot traffic. Satisfied, he closed his eyes a moment to feel the wind on his cheek, judge the direction and speed.
“Not much of a window,” Eve noted.
“It’s much enough. It’s a busy place. Maybe send a couple guys in, soft clothes, to plow the road. We do that right, we should be able to get off a clean shot.”
“She’s got a weapon on Weaver. Can’t see it, but has to be. Plus, she’s got that shit with her. You drop her from here, she could take out Weaver before she goes down. And she could release the poison.”
Considering, Eve lowered the glasses. “Maybe we get everybody out before it takes effect, or maybe we end up stunning a bunch of delusional civilians trying to kill each other over their ravioli. Or maybe she mixed up some other shit, and we can’t be sure what the fuck it’ll do.”
“That’s a problem,” Lowenbaum said in his easy way as he pulled down his sniper goggles to look at Eve. “Let’s work the problem.”
“Straightforward. You wire me up. I go in, talk to her.”
“And if she’s got a blaster under the table and takes you out?”
“I don’t think so.” Eve could all but hear Roarke’s furious objections behind her. He didn’t have to voice them, the air sizzled with them. “I get to the booth, sit, she knows we’ve got the place locked. She’ll want to negotiate.”
“Rules of play, Dallas. We don’t give her another hostage, much less a cop.”
“I know the rules of play, and sometimes they have to flex. Think of it as a showdown. A—what is it— Mexican standoff.”
“Seriously? It’s an Italian place, but this ain’t gonna be a Roman holiday.”
He made her smile. “Weaver’s just a step for her, a slap. She’s got bigger plans, and central is getting her boy out. She’s got an emotional investment in him, and we can use that. I can use that. I get in, wired, you’ll know what she’s got on her. And I’ve got a better chance of taking her out, close up, without any hazard to civilians. Wire Mira in. She can help me with this.”
“We’ll cover the exits, move in through the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I’m with you there. But somebody’s got to get up close and personal, draw her off Weaver and the man, keep her from releasing the agent.”
“I’m putting my best man—which would be me—on the target. She makes a wrong move, I’m giving myself the green. We got about seventy people in there—unknown number in the kitchen. If necessary, we’ll do a broad range stun, make them all go nighty-night.”
“Let’s see if we can avoid that.”
“She’d know your face.” She turned as Roarke spoke, and saw the hard anger in his eyes. “If she’s got a weapon, as she surely does, what stops her from using it on you while you’re ten feet away?”
“I’m working on that. Peabody, take off those idiot boots.”
“My boots? But—”
“Do you really think a pair of pink cowboy boots disguises you?”
“It’s just the start,” she told Roarke. “Dig out those silly rainbow sunshades,” she told Peabody. “And that scarf.” She tugged on Peabody’s madly striped scarf. “Wrap it around my head or something. Call out the Free- Ager.”
“A moment, Lieutenant.” Without waiting for assent, Roarke took her arm, pulled her aside. “This is foolish.”
“It’s not. I’ve got my magic coat.”
“It doesn’t cover your hard head.”
“Okay, look, we can’t see what she’s got under that damn table-cloth. Maybe she got her hands on a blaster. It’s more likely a knife. She could slice Weaver open any time, but again, it’s more likely she’ll hurt or disable Weaver enough to keep her in there, use the substance and get out. I can draw her attention off Weaver, get her talking. She’ll bargain to get Callaway out. He’s her legacy, her hope for the future.”
“The bargaining can be done from out here.”
“Roarke, there are kids in there. If she releases that shit, we don’t know how fast it works on kids, but it’ll be faster. They’re smaller, lighter. I don’t know, and I’m not risking standing out at a safe distance while kids get poisoned and maybe hack up Mommy’s face with a pasta fork before we can control the situation.”
“Bloody fucking hell.”
“We can get some of them out. Her back’s to the kitchen. We can move some of them out, quietly, while she’s focused on me. I’m the game changer. Right now she thinks she’s in charge. I change the balance, it throws her off. She has to rethink.”
“You go in, I go in.”
“Listen—”
He took her face in his hands. “You go, I go. That’s non-negotiable. If we’re to get blasted to hell or poisoned into lunatics, we do it together.”
“Crap. Crap. You have to look less rich and gorgeous.”
God help him, she made him grin. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Wire him up, too,” she told Lowenbaum. “Peabody, give me those stupid boots.”
“They’re not going to fit you.”
“I’ll manage.”
She stood while Lowenbaum’s e-man fit her with mic and earbud. And shoving her feet into the pink boots learned Peabody was right. They were miserably tight from toe to heel, awkwardly wide. She’d manage.
“Just enough to get me to the table,” she told her partner as Peabody began to wrap the scarf.
“You might as well look good. You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure the weird scarf and the shades will get me across the room.”
“Dallas.”
“I’m sure. I want you in the back, in the kitchen. We’re going to move people out, and I need you to keep it smooth and quiet. And when I tell you, move in. Not before, Peabody. You, Baxter, Trueheart, move in on my go, and when Lowenbaum clears it. Not before.”
“Understood.”
She leaned in just a little, lowered her voice. “Lowenbaum will stun me if he needs to. I’m counting on you to take care of Roarke.”
“Oh, jeez.”
“If it goes south, you take him down, get him out. That’s not just an order, Peabody, it’s a request from a friend. Get him down and out. Promise me.”
“I do. I will. And you, too.”
“Lowenbaum’s men will come for the cop first. I’m not worried about it.”
“Actually, you look totally chill.” Peabody gave the trailing edge of the scarf a little flip. “Sort of urban- bohemian chic.”
“God. Doctor Mira? Are you there?”
“Yes.” The voice, tight, tense, came through the earbud. “And I feel this is an unnecessary risk.”
“A calculated one. I’m covered. There’s a toddler in a damn booster seat smearing spaghetti sauce on his face ten feet away from the target. Once I get in position, feed me. Pull me back if I head in the wrong direction with her. I want to keep her engaged until we get as many civilians to safety as possible.”
“She’s a soldier first. She’ll sacrifice herself for her mission.”
“I’m counting on that mission priority being Callaway. Lowenbaum, are we set?”
“In position.”
