As I headed north, I noticed the improvement in the weather. Only 50 percent cloud cover and no rain. Compared with the downpours of the last couple of days, it was heaven.
Bread and Chocolate on 23rd was teeming with office workers enjoying a lunchtime sandwich and coffee. I had just crossed M, and was on the opposite side of the road, walking toward Sarah's apartment. Metal Mickey seemed a bit of an airhead and I didn't want to get fucked over and lifted while tucking into a sticky bun and cappuccino. I didn't expect the RV to go wrong, but these things have to be done right; complacency is a tried and- tested shortcut to a disability pension, or worse. Anyone could have been listening to his calls, or he might simply have got cold feet and decided to seek advice. They would then use him to get to me, the K who should have been in North Carolina dealing with Sarah.
I bumbled on, not looking directly through the window, but checking things out all the same. If a trigger was on the shop and a weirdo walked past staring at the place, it would be a good bet that he was the target.
Things were looking fine; I couldn't see anyone sitting in cars or hanging about, but that wasn't necessarily significant. Whether or not I was getting set up by Metal Mickey, they could just as easily have put a trigger on him. And if he'd said anything to the Firm, I'd know as soon as I met him;
I didn't have him down as the sort of man who could tell lies with his body language.
I walked past the 7-Eleven-type store on my right and noticed it had a small coffee and Danish area, busily taking its share of the office workers' dollars. There wasn't much going on in there, either, just people filling their faces and catching up on gossip.
I got to the junction and turned left on N. Walking about another thirty meters, I was more or less level with the entrance to Sarah's block. The water system was working overtime again on the flower garden. If I'd been triggered as I did my walk-past they would now be behind me, thinking that I was heading for the apartment.
Two attractive black women were approaching from the opposite direction, coffee and pretzels in their hands. I would have no more than three seconds in which to check. They passed, laughing and talking loudly.
Now was the time. I turned to give them an admiring glance in that way that men think they do so unobtrusively. The two women gave me a You-should-be-so-lucky-white-boy look and got back to their laughing.
There were three candidates beyond them. A middle-aged couple dressed for the office turned the corner, coming from the same direction as me, but they looked more preoccupied in staring into each other's eyes for as long as possible before it was time to go home to their wife or husband.
Then again, good operators would always make it look that way. The other possible was coming from straight ahead, on N Street, on the same side as Sarah's apartment. He was wearing blue jeans and a short- sleeved, dark-green shirt with the tail hanging out, the way I would if I wanted to cover my weapon and radio.
I faced back the way I was walking. You can only do so much checking.
If these were operators, the couple would now be overtly cooing to each other; but instead of sweet nothings they'd be reporting on what I was getting up to, on a radio net, telling control and the other operators where I was, what I was wearing, the color of my bag and which shoulder it was being carried on. And if they were good, they would also report that I could be aware, because of the look back.
I carried on the last twenty meters to the end of the block and turned left. I was now on 24th Street and paralleling 23rd. This was the second corner I had turned; if there was a technical device or trigger on our RV there could be people stood off around the other side of the block, waiting for the word to move. Nothing seemed to look that way, just lots of traffic and people lining up to buy lunch at the pretzel stalls.
The couple were still with me. Maybe they wanted pretzels, or maybe they'd told Green Shirt that they could take the target around the corner, toward M Street. Stopping at the last of the three stalls, I bought a Coke and watched the area I'd just come from. The lovers were now at the middle stall, doing the same. I moved off, got to M and turned left, back toward 23rd and the RV Three corners had now been turned in a circular route; an unnatural thing to do. I moved into an office doorway and opened my Coke. If the lovers came past, I would bin the RV, but then again, any good operator wouldn't turn the third corner. I hated clearing an area, especially if it was me going into the RV It was so hard to be sure.
Nothing happened during the five minutes it took me to finish the can, so now seemed the ideal time to get my weapon out of the bag; apart from anything else, fishing around like a tourist looking for a map gave me an excuse to be standing there now that I'd finished drinking. I sneaked together the Chinese thing and its mag, which I'd split for the flight, and tucked it into my jeans, ensuring that the jacket covered it and the catch was off, so it could be used in the semiauto mode. Moving off again, I eventually turned back onto 23rd and into the 7Eleven.
I bought a Danish, a newspaper and the biggest available cup of coffee, and sat at a table that gave me a good trigger on the RV There were twenty-five minutes to go.
I watched as people walked past from both directions, on both sides of the street. Were they doing walk- pasts to see if we were in there? This wasn't paranoia, it was attention to detail; it doesn't work like it does in the movies, with fat policemen sitting in their car right outside the target, engine running, moaning about their wives and eating doughnuts.
No one went in and came straight out again; no one walked around muttering into their collar. All of which meant either they weren't there, or they were very good indeed.
Cars, trucks and taxis trundled past from right to left on the one-way system. As the traffic stopped for a red at the junction with M, I pinged Metal Mickey sitting in the back of a cab, well down in his seat with his head resting on the back. I couldn't see his eyes, but I hoped that he was also taking the trouble to clear his route. Maybe he wasn't as much of a numb nut as I'd thought. The traffic moved on and he went with it.
If there was one thing I hated more than clearing an area before a meet, it was the meet itself. It's at simple events like this that people get killed, in the way that a traffic cop stopping a car for jumping a red light might land up getting shot by the driver.
I sat, watched and waited. It wouldn't look abnormal to the staffer anyone else for me to be spending that amount of time there. The place was packed and the size of the coffee signaled that I wasn't a man in a hurry. I checked around me again, just to be sure that I wasn't sitting next to a trigger.
It had happened to me once, outside Deny; it was late at night, and I was waiting in a car waiting to lift a player, only to discover, as a JCB tried to crush the car and me with its bucket, that I was parked in front of his brother's house. Maybe they'd always done that with any dickhead they spotted picking his nose outside.
Mickey appeared right on time, but not from the direction I was expecting him to. He came from the right, the same direction from which he'd approached in the cab. He was dressed in the same loud suit and neon shirt as before. Perhaps he thought I'd have problems IDing him. He was carrying a laptop bag, with the strap over his right shoulder. Was what he wanted me to see on hard disk, and the dickhead had actually brought it with him? Maybe he wasn't so switched on.
I knew from our last meet that he was right-handed, and noted that his jacket was done up; chances were, he wasn't carrying. Not that it meant that much at this stage, but these things needed to be thought about in case things went tits up.
Having cleared his route, he showed no hesitation about going into the cafe. Good man. He did understand about sponsoring the meet. He knew I'd be watching him, and covering his ass as well as mine.
I watched for another five minutes past the RV time; if I didn't walk over to meet him he would wait another twenty-five minutes before leaving, then try again tomorrow at the same time. Nothing that I could see told me the RV was compromised. I got off my stool and binned the rest of the coffee and Danish, checking that my weapon wasn't about to clatter onto the floor. I hated not having an internal holster; I'd already lost my weapon twice because of it. I walked outside and checked once more as I crossed the road. Nothing. Fuck it, there's only so much checking you can do.
As I pulled the door toward me I saw his back in line at the counter. The place was still packed. I walked past him and did my surprised, 'Hi! What are you doing here?' He turned and smiled that happy I-haven'tseen-you for-a-while look, and we shook hands.
'Great to see you, it's been ... ages.' He beamed.
'Join me for a coffee and something sinful?'
I took a look around. All the seats were taken.
'Tell you what,' I said, 'the place across the street isn't so full, let's go there.' His smile got even bigger as he agreed. When we got out onto the street he slapped me on the shoulder.
