Aldo says, “This is about the Otterson case, right? The suicide?”
“Yes, it is,” she says. “I want the source documents for the investigation, including photos and videos and any and all surveillance documentation.”
“But you already had that before we went in.”
“No,” she says. “I got a report. That’s all. It might have been sanitized, might have been changed. Not good enough. That woman suicided for no good reason. I want the originals. Can you get them?”
Aldo says, “I’ll try.”
Noa says, “ScrewI’ll try.You either can or can’t. If you can’t, I’ll try somebody else.”
He says, “Target vehicle in sight, Noa.”
“Answer the damn question.”
He says, “I’ll get it for you.”
“Good,” she says. Toggling the microphone of her encrypted Motorola radio, she contacts the other members of her team: Wendy Liu, Phil Cannon, and Juan Rodriguez.
To Wendy and Phil, who are traveling together, she says, “Target vehicle has arrived. Juan, you copy?”
Juan is traveling alone and says, “Got it, Noa,” and Wendy also chimes in, “Ready to roll.”
Noa watches the target vehicle—a red Chevrolet Impala—pull up to the 7-Eleven, as it has several times during the past three weeks. Three young men step out, laughing and talking to each other on their way inside. Supposedly they are Iraqi refugees, going to the Charlottesville-Albemarle Technical Education Center, about a half hour drive south. One is studying automotive repair, and the other two are studying HVAC systems.
But there are hints the three are not Iraqi refugees, and Noa and her team are about to confirm that today. A quick daytime burglary of their apartment showed nothing of apparent interest, and audio surveillance has them talking about work, girls, and European football.
It’s perfect.
Too perfect.
The three come out of the 7-Eleven, paper bags in their hands as well as coffee cups, and get back into the Impala. They all wear hoodies and baseball caps, so facial ID software and imaging hasn’t helped in determining their real identities. The Impala backs out and Aldo starts up the van’s engine and slides in behind them.
If these three were indeed heading south to their technical school, they would turn right onto the Seminole Trail.
Instead, they turn left, to go north.
Noa whispers, “Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action. That’s what Ian Fleming once wrote.”
Aldo laughs. “This is at least the fourth time you’ve quoted those lines. What would you call that?”
“I don’t know, but give me a few minutes.”
Back to her radio. “Wendy, Juan, our gang is on the move. Prepare to respond.”
And twice in a row comes: “Roger that, Noa.”
Aldo speeds up the van. For reasons unknown, the president had suggested this op take place tomorrow. But they have all the intel they need and Noa isn’t going to hesitate.
The van is advertising a floral delivery service, but there are no flowers in the back.
Just three mattresses and the gentlejingle-jangleof chains and handcuffs dangling from the van’s interior roof, ready for the three men, whoever they are.
CHAPTER 38
UP NORTH ALONG the Seminole Trail, the Impala makes a right turn onto a narrow side road called Watts Passage. As Aldo previously noted, these three Iraqis have made this long detour at least five times before, and Noa has a pretty good idea why.
Today she wants to confirm it.