They would have been surprised by the fast rescue of the CIA man, and probably very troubled by the fact they didn’t have as good an understanding of the opposition as they had thought.
Branyon’s home would be as good a place as any to be on the lookout for his mysterious protectors.
Ding took his time looking up and down the quiet street, lit only by the glow of streetlamps; then he unlocked the gate with a key provided to him by the deputy chief of station. He drew his pistol, then entered alone, disappearing under the arch. This led him to the small center court of the building, and here he took a stairwell to Branyon’s apartment on the second floor.
In his earpiece Ding heard, “Okay, you’ve left my line of sight.”
“Roger that,” Ding said, and he kept climbing.
Dom Caruso was tucked under a graffiti-covered alcove on the same street as the men watching Branyon’s house, just below and thirty yards to the right of their position. He sat cross-legged, a half-consumed bottle of beer in his hand and three more waiting alongside it. He was dressed like a bum, or what he thought a bum might look like in Lithuania, although he hadn’t been here long enough to really know. He wore an old coat he’d bought at an outdoor flea market that afternoon, and an old felt cap, and he’d darkened the three-day growth of stubble on his face with charcoal, giving him more of a beard than he really had.
Most of the time Dom just sat there and nursed his beer, but he stole quick looks here and there with his binoculars and his FLIR monocular, both taken out of the inside of his coat each time he used them. On the first scan after Ding went into the building, Dom took a moment to center his glass on the Land Cruiser that Chavez had driven up in. It was parked in the lot near the entrance to Branyon’s building, and through his binoculars Dom could make out the bullet holes even all the way over here. His hidden earpiece had a sophisticated microphone built in that allowed him to transmit even whispers to Ding’s earpiece. He held his beer up to his mouth and said, “Driving over in a shot-up vehicle was a bit much, don’t you think?”
As Chavez climbed the stairs he chuckled softly. “Nobody ever accused me of being subtle. We know there is a lot of oppo, and we know they are trained tactically… but we don’t know if they are very smart.”
“Fair enough,” said Dom. “Carry on.”
When Ding arrived at Branyon’s apartment he began to turn on lights, telegraphing the fact he was there to the mysterious opposition, in case they hadn’t noticed him.
Dom remained in the dark, scanning the area, searching for any signs of life.
Five minutes after Chavez entered the apartment, Dom saw two men walking through the park. One had a bottle in his hand, and they staggered a little while they walked, but Dom kept his eyes on them anyhow, in case it was a ruse.
The men kept going, and they walked out of the scene without ever looking in the direction of Chavez’s location.
Another few minutes passed. Dom was switching between his regular binoculars, which worked fine here because of the streetlamps, and his FLIR monocular, which helped him scan all the windows, rooftops, and dark alcoves around the square for heat signatures, just in case someone was lurking there.
Ding opened the blinds on the second floor, then looked out over the little park.
Dom said, “Dude, you are silhouetting yourself. Giving them a target.”
Ding replied, “I’m trying to get them to take the bait.” He closed the blinds after a few seconds and turned out a light in the kitchen.
Caruso saw nothing that aroused any suspicions. He said, “If the watchers in the apartment on my left are interested, they should be looking at you right now.”
Just then, Dom heard a car start in the parking lot on the far end of the alcove behind him. He knew this lot was used by people in the buildings all up and down this side of the street, meaning one of the unknown opposition team members might be behind the wheel. Dom quickly made sure all his gear was well tucked away, and he moved into the doorway of a hair salon next to the alcove.
Seconds later, a vehicle pulled into the tunnel from the parking lot behind. It had its lights off, and it stopped at the back of the tunnel, just idling there in position.
Dom said, “Okay, Ding. You called it. I’ve got some kind of a hatchback vehicle idling in the dark near my poz. Looks like two inside, but can’t confirm that.”
Ding said, “It’s about damn time. I was thinking about making myself a sandwich.” Then he added, “Keep an eye out for others.”
“You’ve been spotted by the other side… Why wait around until a whole busload shows up?”
“I want to make it look good. I’m going to sit it out for a couple more minutes, then I’ll roll out of here. You follow anybody following me.”
“Got it,” Dom said, and he sipped his beer.
Dom had a 2011 Honda CBR250R street bike parked against the curb a half-block up the street. It was an entry-level bike, nothing that was going to outrun any fighter planes, but for the twisting turning streets of Vilnius, it was agile, small, and, most important, it would not stand out.
After five minutes more Ding turned off the rest of the lights in Peter Branyon’s apartment, then he appeared in the archway at the front of the building carrying two suitcases. These he put in the back of the Land Cruiser, before climbing behind the wheel.
Dom watched all this, and whispered behind his beer. “What’s in the suitcases?”
“Just some books I threw in to make them look heavy. Do I still have eyes on me?”
“Affirm. The car is on my left, twenty-five feet away, but I’m tucked into a doorway and out of their line of sight. I won’t be able to go back to my bike until they take off after you.”
“Okay,” Ding said. “But watch out for other vehicles. If they have the manpower and they are interested enough in who I am and what I’m doing, then they’ll do a multicar surveillance package. Honestly, I’d just as soon get as many of these fuckers in one place at one time, lead them all into the police roadblock.”
“Roger that,” Dom said, and just as he transmitted he heard several car doors shut in the parking lot on the far side of the tunnel. “Careful what you wish for, Ding. You’re about to be leading a parade.”
Minutes later, Chavez drove off from the other side of the park, turning his bullet-pocked Land Cruiser in the direction of Caruso and the opposition vehicles, then turning right.
As soon as he disappeared, three vehicles emerged from the passageway through the building on Dom’s left. A gray Škoda hatchback, a black Ford four-door, and a black BMW SUV.
“Okay, Ding,” Dom said. “I’ve got three vehicles following you.” He described the vehicles as he rushed to his motorcycle.
“The BMW was in back, right?” Chavez asked over the net.
“How’d you know?”
“The Škoda and the Ford are full of labor, the Beamer is management. No team leader is going to sit in the back of a piece-of-shit hatchback while his muscle drives a BMW.”
Dom whistled gently into his mike. “You have been doing this too long.”
“Tell me about it,” Ding said. “Catch up to us, but don’t let them see you.”
Chavez had to drive through late-night Vilnius pretending he did not see the three vehicles behind him. The men inside, assuming this was part of the same force he and Caruso had encountered at the border the night before, had proven themselves to be well trained with their weapons. But they were not terribly good at surveillance.
Chavez couldn’t lose the three-car tail. The entire objective to this mission was to lead them to a police roadblock on the Drujos highway, just east of the Old Town. The location had been selected because it was close enough to the city that Chavez and Caruso felt confident there was little risk the tail would give up and just return to their apartment, and far enough away from homes, apartments, and public spaces that a shootout would not create a massive bloodbath of civilians.