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The driver tapped his left ear. “Yeah, your man’s got my channel.”
Extending his arm and pointing at the station, Rapp said, “Pull up to those pumps right there. Right behind that Crown Victoria. Get out of the car, and start to put gas in. I’ll tell you what to do over the radio.”
Rapp went back to Dumond and pointed at the screen. “Can you get me a shot of the store on this?”
Dumond nodded and went to work. Four seconds later, they were staring at an image of the store. Rapp patted him on the shoulder and put his headset back on. “Libra Three, we have the car. Please go back to the house and keep us informed of any changes.”
“Roger that, Virgo One. We’re heading back to the house.”
Rapp closed the door to the driver’s compartment, and the three of them huddled around the screen. “Marcus, you’re recording all of this, right?”
“Yeah.”
The driver of the car was not visible inside the store, so Rapp said, “Get us a quick shot of the car, and run the plate.”
When the camera focused in on the rear plate of the sedan, Coleman let out a groan and said, “Shit.”
Rapp added a second expletive, and Dumond asked, “What’s wrong?”
“The car’s got government plates.”
“Run them anyway,” Rapp said.
“Mitch, this complicates things.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean, maybe? There’s no maybe about it. If this guy is a fed, we’ve got problems.”
“We’ll see. Marcus, get us a shot of the store again.” A man in a suit with sandy blond hair was at the counter checking out.
Coleman said, “That’s not the Professor.”
“Is there anyone else in the store?”
Dumond moved the joy stick around in an attempt to peer into the far corners of the store. After a second, he brought the focus back to the man at the counter. “It looks like he’s the only one in there.”
Rapp watched him pull out his wallet and hand the cashier some money. Grabbing Dumond’s shoulder, Rapp said, “Tell our driver to get back in the van.” Dumond repeated the command, and a few seconds later they heard the driver’s door close. Their eyes were glued to the screen as they watched the man in the store pick up a cardboard tray filled with four towering Styrofoam cups. A white plastic bag was also hooked to one of his hands.
Rapp spoke quietly. “Tell the driver to pull into the spot on the left of the sedan and park.”
While Dumond was repeating the order, Rapp took his headset off and pulled out his silenced Beretta. Coleman did the same. As they moved forward, Dumond manipulated the camera atop the van to keep the target in view. They came to a stop just as the man was setting the tray of drinks on top of the roof of his sedan.
Rapp opened the door quickly and stepped to the asphalt. The man had his back turned to him. Just as he was starting to look over his shoulder, Rapp raised his left hand and brought the butt end of his pistol grip crashing down. The hard blunt steel of the Beretta smacked the back of the man’s head and immediately buckled his knees. Rapp grabbed him under one arm while Coleman grabbed the other. They dragged him the few feet to the van and dropped him onto the floor. While Rapp swung the man’s legs into the vehicle, he checked an ankle holster and a potential backup weapon. Coleman snatched the man’s automatic from his shoulder holster and grabbed his car keys.
He held the car keys in front of Rapp. “What do you want me to do with the car?”
“Follow us in it. There’s an industrial park just down the road.”
THE INDUSTRIAL PARK was a mix of two-story office buildings and warehouse space. The van and the sedan pulled around to the back of the building. Across the street was a strip mall with a bar at one end. Hackett and Stroble parked near the bar and kept an eye on the street. When Coleman opened the side cargo door of the van, he was greeted by the sight of Mitch Rapp sitting on top of the man they had just grabbed. Rapp’s knees were on the man’s arms, and the tip of his silenced Beretta was pressed firmly into the man’s right eye socket.
With a clenched jaw, Rapp asked, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”
Coleman stepped into the van and closed the door. “What does his ID say?”
“I haven’t had a chance to check it yet. We’ve been too busy talking, right?” Rapp stuck the tip of his silencer a little further into the man’s eye.
Coleman reached down and pulled open the man’s suit coat. He snatched a leather case out of the breast pocket and opened it. Instead of saying anything, he held the document in front of Rapp’s face.