The drop-off had been set in motion too recently for anyone to have had a real chance at an ambush, but still he had the Wilson in hand inside his jacket as he walked along the shoulder. In less than a minute he saw her, sitting on a tarp just below the guardrail. If he hadn’t been looking, he would have gone right by.
“Oh, it’s you again,” she said. “Tom told me.”
He nodded, amazed. He recognized her face, but . . . last time she had looked like a well-fed grandmother. Now she was dressed in filthy rags and seemed . . . well, not emaciated, but at least in need of a square meal. “I guess we don’t need the bona fides anymore,” he said, glancing around. “Pardon me, ma’am, but are you all right?”
She smiled, and for a second she looked the way he remembered. “Sonny, I don’t know where you went to school, but didn’t they teach you to blend?”
“I like to think so, yes, but not as well as they must have taught you.”
She laughed at that. “Well, thank you.”
“You sure you’re all right? You don’t need a ride or anything?”
“Oh, I’m not nearly as helpless as I look. If you keep walking, ten yards up, right under the guardrail, you’ll see a large olive duffel bag. It has everything on your shopping list. You know, I’m always expecting you to ask for a sniper rifle, but you never do.”
This time it was his turn to laugh. “Tom’s been talking about me, has he?”
“A little.”
“Well, he’s right. I do prefer gunfights to be conducted at a proper distance, but circumstances don’t always oblige. You mind my asking how you’re able to get ahold of such great toys on such short notice?”
“I do, actually. A woman should have her secrets.”
He shook his head, amazed. “That’s fair. Please understand, I was asking out of sincere admiration.”
“I know you were. Now, you should go. Good luck to you, always. Maybe we’ll get to meet again.”
“I hope so,” he said. Then he smiled and added, “I think you could teach me a thing or two.”
She returned the smile. “I’m way too old for you to flirt with, young man. But thank you anyway.”
Had he been flirting with her? He hadn’t meant to. Or had he? He gave her a little bow and walked off.
A minute later, he was back in the car and they were moving again. They distributed the contents of the bag. Modular breach charges and tape. KDH Magnum TAC-1 vests. Suppressors. Armor-piercing rounds—9 millimeter for Livia and Larison, .45 for Dox. Tactical gloves. Pry bar. Flashbang grenades. Hemostatic bandages and other medical supplies. Bolt cutters, in case Schrader was chained to a wall. Flex-ties. And a backpack-carried, Agency-issue multispectrum Technical Surveillance Countermeasures unit, which could detect microphones, cameras, and pretty much anything else that bled an electronic signature from up to fifty feet out, through a Bluetooth-connected pair of binoculars.
While Diaz drove, the three of them geared up. Dox hated that Livia was going in with them. He knew what kind of shooter she was—better than he was with a pistol, truth be told, which was saying something, though not as good as Larison—but the whole point of bringing in Larison and stopping Manus was to keep Livia out of this, not to drag her deeper in. But that ship had sailed. The best thing he could do now was to get on his game face, drop everyone in that house, and come out with Schrader.
The Airbnb website had been a big help, given that they included numerous photos of the property, interior and exterior. The plan was to approach through the woods behind the house, use the TSCM gear to confirm no cameras or other electronic countermeasures, and then for Larison to use the external stairs to a second-story porch, where he would use the breach charge to blow a hole in a wall while Dox and Livia went in through a first-floor window, preceded by a flashbang. They’d sweep the house, neutralize the opposition, and hustle Schrader out.