Now Saleh had to decide if they should shoot the old man while he sat in the restaurant and then try to race away through the crowded and touristy part of Old Town, or else wait till he headed back home, and do him on his quiet residential street.
Thinking again of what had happened in North Carolina the evening before, he found his choice easy to make. “We wait till he goes back home. If he walks around awhile, it’s okay. But if he looks like he’s going to get on public transportation, we kill him immediately.”
Saleh had been told directly by Omar, the leader of the Detroit cell, that Mohammed had precluded any of them from setting foot in D.C. because of the high police presence and what he assumed would be heavy racial profiling.
The four men in the Pathfinder continued watching their target, some hundred yards distant through the glass of the restaurant.
—
A few minutes later John Clark and Eddie Laird shook hands again at the front door of La Madeleine.
Eddie said, “If we wrap up around lunchtime, what do you think about the four of us heading over to Murphy’s for a celebratory beer and some wings?”
Clark said, “How ’bout this? You and I go for the beer and lunch. If my trainees pass muster, they can tag along. If not, I’m sending their asses back to the office to reread the manuals on foot-follow surveillance. They can eat crow for lunch.”
Clark didn’t mention that Adara Sherman had proven herself capable in the field on Campus ops more than once, and Midas Jankowski was already an incredibly well-trained operative from Delta Force. He imagined they would pass today, but he wouldn’t commit to rewarding them until they did.
“Well, now, aren’t you a hard-charging bastard?” Eddie joked. “All right, buddy. I’m your mouse, bring on your two little kitty cats.” Laird walked across the street to a CVS pharmacy, where he took his time buying a bottle of water, a pack of chewing gum, and a copy of The Washington Post, giving the trainees time to get into the area.
—
Adara Sherman and Midas Jankowski had been reading books on surveillance for the past hour and a half. Adara had read the books twice before, back when she was on the aircraft shuttling Campus operatives around the world and dreaming about the opportunity to join their ranks to make a larger contribution to the cause.
Midas had read different books on the subject, back when he was new in G Squadron at Delta. This was the recce group, reconnaissance, and they often worked in small groups and in plainclothes on surveillance missions around the world. He fully expected to do a good job today, and maybe even have some fun while doing it. His first week as part of this tiny group of brilliant and dedicated Americans had been nothing short of a blast. Moreover, just the knowledge that the three-man operational force had spent the previous weekend involved in some sort of direct-action mission overseas made his blood pump faster.
Mr. C. clearly hadn’t been jerking Midas’s chain back when he told him The Campus got into the action with regularity.
Shortly after the two of them closed their books, they received a group text from Clark instructing them to begin double-timing it toward King Street.
Adara had a Smith & Wesson Shield she carried for personal protection here in Virginia, and she started to reach for it. But she stopped herself and turned to Midas. “Are you carrying today?”
“We can’t carry in the District. It’s a felony. I have no idea where this target we’re tailing is going to go. I’ll just take my knife.”
Jankowski carried a small hawkbill-bladed karambit knife in a sheath inside his waistband. He was well trained on the device, even though the one on his person now was a thirty-dollar off-brand. The blade was only two and a half inches long, meaning it was small enough to carry legally in D.C., but he’d never get it through a metal detector if their subject went into any federal buildings, art galleries, or other public places. He went cheap with the blade today because he knew there was a chance he’d have to drop it in a garbage can to keep on mission.
Adara had an even smaller two-inch folding blade and a small can of Sabre Red pepper gel, which could shoot a thick stream of goo twenty feet that was capable of burning mucous membranes with roughly the same heat used in bear-attack sprays.
Pepper gel wasn’t nearly as effective as a weapon that fired lead, but like the little knife, it could also be safely discarded in a garbage can if she needed to dump her weapons to get into a restrictive location.
A minute after getting Clark’s text they were in Midas’s Chevy Silverado heading to King Street, and they found parking a block over and walked the rest of the way.
Clark met with the pair in the middle of Market Square, a large open space in front of the 150-year-old city hall. A farmers’ market was under way, bringing hundreds out on this summer morning.
Clark brought Midas and Adara to the side of the action, stood them by the large fountain in the middle of the square, and said, “Okay, today’s subject is within three hundred yards of you right now. He’s seventy years young, five-ten, one hundred sixty pounds. He’s wearing a white polo and khaki slacks, and he might or might not have a hat on.”
Midas and Adara exchanged a look. This wouldn’t be easy.
Clark added, “He’ll be walking with a copy of The Washington Post.”
Midas asked, “Our orders?”
“Tail, surveil, and prevail. When I call time on the op, I want pictures of anyone he talks to, and good notes of where he went and what he did. Any questions?”
Adara asked, “Does he know who we are?”
“No, and it’s your job to keep it that way. You fail if he describes you to me at the end of the run.”
Both Adara and Midas were clear on their task.
“Good luck.” Clark walked off, heading back to La Madeleine now, eager to eat a real breakfast.
The two trainees put earpieces in their ears and then Adara called Midas. Once they established a constant connection between the two of them, they split up to find their target. Midas headed east toward the Potomac River, and Adara moved west up King Street.
—
Eddie Laird left the CVS after twenty minutes and headed off to the west, staying with the flow of traffic on the sidewalk running up the northern side of King Street.
A block behind him, Badr pulled the Pathfinder into the weekend morning traffic and said, “He isn’t going home. Home is the other way.”
In the back, Chakir said, “Did he see us? Does he know we are following him?”
Saleh shook his head. “He knows nothing. Calm down, everyone. He can go for a walk if he wants.”
Badr said, “What do I do?”
Saleh was the right man to lead this quartet from Detroit, because he was by far the most calm of the group. “Drive on ahead of him, then stop and drop the three of us off. We’ll let him pass and then stay behind him. If there is a good opportunity to do it and escape, we will proceed. Otherwise, we wait for him to go home.”
After a second Saleh began taking off his shirt. “Everyone but Badr needs to remove their body armor. It will show under our clothes if we walk around on the street for long.”
Badr said, “But Mohammed told us to—”
Saleh snapped back, “The vests are too big! We can’t wear jackets to cover them on a day this warm without being detected!”
All three men removed their vests, passed them to the back of the Pathfinder, and donned their shirts again.
—
Adara found her target checking his bank balance at an ATM on King Street, then he turned and headed to the west. Even if the white-haired man hadn’t had the Post under his arm, he just had a look about him that told her he was a contemporary—and likely a friend—of John Clark’s.
She didn’t follow behind him for long. Instead, she turned left on St. Asaph Street, so that if he was looking for a tail he wouldn’t se
e her at all. As soon as she was out of his line of sight she said, “Midas, I have the target. He’s about ten blocks from the river on King and heading west. I’ll move parallel to him and try to get ahead.”
“Roger that,” Midas said. “I’m five blocks away on King Street. You stay out of sight on an intersecting street, then fold in behind him, remaining on the opposite side of the street. You take the eye, and I’ll stay back and keep my eyes on you. I’m ready to overlap you and take the eye on your call.”
“Got it.” Adara walked quickly, thankful she wore tennis shoes, lightweight nylon pants, and a short-sleeve shirt because it looked like she was going to do a fair bit of power-walking this morning.
—
The Nissan Pathfinder from Detroit passed by Eddie Laird as he walked in front of a restaurant with sidewalk café seating; then the vehicle turned off King Street and onto Washington. Here it immediately pulled to the side of the road. The three young men of Middle Eastern heritage climbed out; Mehdi and Chakir had small backpacks slung over their shoulders, each carrying an Uzi and extra magazines, and Saleh had a Glock pistol and two extra magazines rammed into the small of his back between his underwear and his skin, covered by his untucked button-down shirt.
Saleh quickly crossed to the southern side of King Street to stay opposite Laird, while Chakir and Mehdi stayed back on Washington until the old white man passed. They waited another minute before taking up the follow behind him.
They both wanted to shoot him in the back now and be done with it, but Saleh was in charge of this group, and he’d told them he’d text or call when it was time to act.
32
Adara Sherman pulled a baseball cap out of her shoulder bag as she headed north on South Columbus, and it was a good thing, too, because her target passed just fifty feet in front of her. He glanced her way, but she had been purposefully walking along right next to a man about her age pushing a baby stroller with a five-year-old boy in tow, and she turned to the boy just as her target glanced at her.
“How old is your adorable sister?”
The boy looked up at the lady who had just spoken to him, then to his dad. “How old is Mary, Daddy?”
The father smiled at the good-looking woman in the ball cap. “Just turned six months.”
“She’s a doll.” Adara looked back to the boy. “I bet you take good care of her, don’t you?”
The little boy beamed and assured the nice lady that he did, and the dad made a moment’s more conversation.
The target had passed by on King Street by now, and Adara felt confident that the white-haired man with The Washington Post had dismissed the family of four from having any part in a surveillance detail.
Midas was still in Adara’s earpiece, and he’d heard every word. “Either you just did all that for OPSEC, or you are using this exercise as an excuse to pick up dudes with baggage.”
Adara fought a smile as she slipped off her ball cap and made a left on King Street, falling in behind her target. “Which seems more likely?”
Midas joked, “I guess I won’t tell Dominic . . . this time.”
“That’s good of you. I’m seventy-five feet behind him and on the south side of the street. He’s on the north. Moving slowly. I’ll soften up, give him some more room.”
Midas said, “I’ll stay on his side, two hundred feet back but ready to close quick if necessary.”
“Roger.”
—
Chakir and Mehdi walked shoulder to shoulder through a thick group of tourists standing on the corner, both keeping their eyes on their target, wondering where the hell the man was going. Seconds later he slipped into a coffee shop, and the two men from Detroit stopped walking, then stood at the corner, facing King Street like they were waiting to cross at the light.
The crossing signal turned green, however, and neither man moved.
—
Across the street and fifty feet ahead of the men, Adara Sherman stopped and began looking through the window of an upscale antiques store that had not yet opened for business. She wanted to check her immediate surroundings for anyone standing close by, using the reflections to do so, before reporting in to Midas that the target had stopped. But before she spoke, Midas’s voice came into her ear.
“Uh . . . Adara? I think Mr. C. might have thrown us a curveball.”
Adara found herself free of anyone who might overhear her conversation. “What’s going on?”
“Not one hundred percent sure, but I might have a couple dudes tailing you.”
The blonde fought the urge to look behind her. “Interesting. That wasn’t the drill today.”
Midas replied, “Clark told us to keep our heads on a swivel. Maybe he has more going on than he said in the brief. Unsub description to follow: Two males, light-olive complexion, early twenties. Both have backpacks. One has a brown T-shirt and a ball cap, the other a green-collared short-sleeve. They are about fifty feet back from you, but on the opposite side of the street from your poz. I’m too far back to be sure they are looking your way, but the second you stopped, they pulled up at the corner, and now they are just hanging out.”
A man stood next to Adara now, looking in the same antiques store, so Adara did not reply. Midas would know she’d received the message, and if these guys were only fifty feet behind her looking her way now, she didn’t want them to see her mouth moving.
Midas said, “Since this wasn’t part of the declared exercise, let’s just play this as real world. We don’t acknowledge them, but we try to lose them while still keeping eyes on the target. It’s going to be tricky. Clear your throat if you acknowledge.”
Adara did so, and she immediately turned left in front of the antiques store on South Fayette Street, breaking off coverage of Laird again, but also forcing the team tailing her to either break off from her or follow her down a quiet residential street.
She made a quick right onto Commerce and continued to the southwest, hoping to catch up with the target. Now that she knew the men on King wouldn’t be able to see her, she asked, “What’s my tail doing?”
Midas did not answer for a few seconds. Finally he said, “They let you go. Didn’t even look your way or give it a moment’s thought. They are still on King. You know . . . I could be wrong about them.”
“I’m sure you have a good nose about these kinds of things. If your gut tells you to keep an eye on them, don’t write them off just yet. Laird stopped into a coffee shop, I’ll get a block ahead and double back.”
Midas said, “These two guys are moving again. Still west on King.” A pause. “Can’t be sure, but I think I see the target leaving the coffee shop and heading west.”
Adara chuckled a little. “Wait, are they tailing me, or are they tailing our target?”
Midas said, “I thought it was you because of their movements mirroring yours, but if your movements were mirroring our target’s, who knows?”
Adara said, “But it doesn’t make sense that they would be following the same guy we are if they are with Clark.”
Midas asked, “Unless Clark is training another team, too.”
Adara didn’t believe that for a second. “Maybe they are waiting for me to show back up.”
Midas said, “Possible. I’ll stay behind them, and watch this closely.”
—
Midas followed the two men, trying to also keep sight of the white-haired target, well over one hundred yards ahead on the sidewalk. But this wasn’t all he was doing. He had tailed enough people in his life to know that it could feel like looking through a drinking straw if he wasn’t careful. Keeping eyes on one person in a crowd had a tendency to make the follower lose sight of the fact that he or she was also out in the open and subject to potential surveillance or other threats. For this reason he took his time now to, as nonchalantly as possible, scan the entire crowd in view on the street. In front of him,
around him, behind him, even in windows of buildings above him.
Everything seemed okay behind him, but he wasn’t going to walk backward and give himself away. For all he knew, Clark was monitoring them right now, making sure he and Adara didn’t violate their cover-for-action by making a game out of today’s surveillance.
Far across the street and ahead, near where Adara had been standing in front of the antiques store, a young man with curly black hair walked with a gait that caught Midas’s eye. He was purposeful, almost storming through the slower moving crowd around him, and his head was fixed on something across the street from him.
Out of the hundred people or more Midas laid eyes on in his sweep while he walked over the next three minutes, only this one man stood out to him.
Midas said, “Adara, what’s your location?”
“South West Street and King Street. I’m making a left onto King, unless you tell me otherwise.”
Midas knew this put Adara a hundred feet or so right in front of the guy in the untucked white button-down.
“I’ve got a possible third unsub. You mind serving as bait to see if he locks onto you?”
“Not at all. I’ve got eyes on the target across the street.”
“Okay,” Midas said, “make a left onto King and stay across and behind the target, and I’ll watch the three guys behind you to see what they do.”
Adara did as directed, kept her head down and talked into her mobile phone now, pretending to have a conversation with her mom about her upcoming visit to D.C. and the different museums they’d visit. This kept her right hand and her phone shielding her face in the event the target looked back over his left shoulder.