“What’s wrong with having a pizza as a starter? That’s how they do it in Italy, you philistine.”
I smiled. “Maybe he’s got a gym in there.”
His face got all bent out of shape. “At home? Alone? What’s the point of that?
“The point of exercise being to meet the babes, right?”
“D-uh. But, hey, if I get to live a couple of extra years, that’s cool too.”
The delivery guy kept his engine idling as he hurried up to the door and rang the bell.
The snowflakes were getting meatier.
I adjusted the screen brightness on the laptop sitting at my elbow. I concentrated on the feed from the camera showing the house’s front door.
Jake Daland-elegant as ever in a short, silk kimono over a deep V-necked white T-shirt that exposed a mat of black chest hair-opened the door with the same calm, nonchalant demeanor. No stepping halfway through the door, no furtively peering to left and right. Zero interest in what was outside the house at all. Either he knew we were out here and didn’t care, or-and though possible, it was by now fairly improbable-he didn’t have a clue that he’d been under surveillance for days.
Daland took the pizza box and handed the delivery guy some money. The delivery guy seemed a bit thrown. They exchanged a few words as he struggled with his oversized puffer coat, fishing through its pockets, then shook his head, the cash in his outstretched hand.
“What’s he doing?” Nick asked.
“Daland must have handed him a large bill and the kid doesn’t have enough change.”
Nick shrugged. “We’re so on the wrong side of the law.”
They exchanged a few more words, then Daland waved the driver inside. The guy went in and the door closed behind him.
Moments later, the delivery guy re-emerged. He was holding a gift-wrapped box from his most loyal small-hours customer.
Nick said, “Now he’s giving the guy a Christmas present?” He shook his head. “I’m telling you, Sean, we chose poorly, man. Poor-ly.”
The delivery guy got back in his car and drove away.
It was at that precise moment that my earpiece burst back to life. “We have a go. All teams: get into position.”
Nick and I climbed out of the Expedition. We were wearing Kevlar under our FBI parkas, even though I thought it was highly unlikely we’d meet any armed resistance. Four SWAT members were already skulking up to the house’s front door, while two other agents, Annie Deutsch and Nat “Len” Lendowski, climbed out of another unmarked vehicle and approached from the opposite direction. We had other men covering the rear of the house. The tech specialists would wait till the house was secure.
We fell in behind the SWAT guys. “One in position,” I said into my cuff mike.
“Two in position,” came the confirmation from the rear of the house.
“Hold,” the voice in my ear said. A brief moment, then it came back. “In five. Four. Three.” Two seconds later, the Christmas lights on Daland’s roof snapped off as the power was cut.
We flipped down our night vision goggles and drew our sidearms as the SWAT team leader swung his battering ram through the door, but just as we were about to follow them in, an alarm burst to life inside me as my brain spontaneously highlighted something I’d seen as I walked up to the house.
Something I’d barely noticed out of the corner of one eye.
Lying innocuously by the edge of the curb, obscured by the shade of some parked cars, barely noticeable: a flash of red ribbon.
The Christmas gift that Daland had given to the delivery guy only minutes earlier. Discarded, tossed away like garbage.
I was electrified with the feeling that something was wrong.
“Nick! Car -now,” I shouted as I pulled off my goggles and stepped back, toward the sidewalk. I saw Deutsch and Lendowski looking at me, all confused, and just waved them on. “Go, go, go!”
They disappeared into the house as I passed the gift and jabbed a finger toward it, telling Nick, “The gift’s a prop. He faked us out.”
We hurried into the Expedition, Nick’s face shooting me a sizeable question mark as I slammed the big SUV into gear and floored it.
We fishtailed away from the curb, with me shouting over the revs, “The delivery guy’s still in the house. Daland drove off in the pizza car.”
Nick shook his head. “Bastard’s got a couple of minutes on us.”
The roads were covered with snow, but the four-wheel drive of the Expedition was rock solid as it ate up the miles. There were no cars driving around, not at that hour, and we soon hit an intersection. I stopped, clueless about which way to go.
“He knows he’s burnt,” I said. “Which means he knows everyone else is burnt too. So where’s he going?”
Nick rubbed his face, trying to force his brain into gear. “Daland knows we’ll be looking for the car and it’s not the most discreet ride. He needs to ditch it fast.”
“Yeah, but where? And swap over to what?”
The onboard satnav flickered through screens as Nick worked it. I couldn’t wait for it to suggest some answers. I scanned the road’s surface and could just about make out a set of thin tracks that turned left.
I followed.
Nick watched as I turned onto another residential street, then his attention went back to the navigation system. Thick walls of snow were now making it increasingly difficult to see where we were going. Even at full speed, the wipers were straining against the weight of the heavy flakes and the trail I was following was getting progressively more shrouded by the new snow.
We were going to lose him.
I adjusted the traction control. “He can’t stay out in this. Either he’s got somewhere to lay low nearby or he’s got a fallback drive stashed somewhere.”
Nick shook his head and said, “I can’t see him having that much foresight. Doesn’t seem in character.”
I nodded. “A cab, maybe? Or maybe he’s ordering an Uber.”
Nick grabbed the car radio’s mike. “I need the location of all twenty-four-hour cab companies around the target’s house.”
Moments later, the radio squawked, “Millpond Cabs, corner of North Main and Church.”
The radio squawked again, another voice this time. It was Lendowski. “Daland’s in the wind,” he said. “The pizza guy is freaking. Daland told him he needed to avoid an angry boyfriend. Told him the angry guy’s girlfriend was in the bedroom and gave him three hundred bucks. Reilly, where the hell are you?”
So it wasn’t about change after all. Not that it mattered.
Nick nudged my arm and pointed urgently to the left. I swung the Expedition accordingly, heading west as Nick answered for us both. “We’re closing on him. You and Deutsch secure the house.”
“Already done. Power’s back on.”
“Are we good?” I asked.
“We’ve got several computers. The hard drives were already over-writing. He had battery backups, but tech disconnected them. There’s also a laptop, but it’s got no hard drive.”
“He pulled it. It must be on him. That’s what we need.” I gunned the V8 engine, the four-wheel drive now winning a one-sided battle against the fresh snow.
The houses were larger now. Set farther back from the street.
Nick pointed up ahead. “Five hundred yards more, then we need to cross over North Main onto Church.”
I was scanning every alleyway as we moved. I peered into a lot shared by a fitness center and a gas station. Nothing.
“Sean, right there!” Nick shouted as he opened his window to take a better look. I slowed the SUV to a crawl.
A narrow street ran about thirty degrees off our position. Almost completely obscured by snow-covered trees was the top of a giant pepperoni pizza.
I swung the Expedition to the left, ready to turn right in another fifty yards.
Nick gestured toward the fast-approaching junction.
A single vehicle was midway through a left-hand turn onto North Main Street.
As we got level with the vehicle, a Toyota Camry, I registered the “Millpond Taxicabs” livery. The cab had pulled away before I could look inside.