Rapp kept his hands stuffed in the oversized pockets and his chin down. In the left pocket was a tactical Rip Cord knife, and in his right pocket a silenced 9mm Glock 26. He'd brought both weapons into the country concealed in the false bottom of his flight bag. Since the CIA, through a subsidiary, leased a large portion of the private airport in Virginia, it was easy to get the bag past security, and upon landing in Canada he did not have to worry about having his flight bag x-rayed. The gun was there as a precaution. The knife would be the instrument of choice. The intent was to send a message. Actually several messages.

He'd seen all the photographs, memorized the street maps, noted the vague patterns of the police squads that patrolled the neighborhood. Compared to most of the ops he'd run, this one ranked pretty low on the risk meter. When Rapp told Coleman what he wanted to do, the former Navy SEAL took it in stride. He asked a few questions, and tried to poke a hole in the plan, but didn't try too hard. The plan was solid, the target was a lamb. That's what they called guys like Khalil. Guys who couldn't bite back. The only real concern was the police, but they weren't very aggressive in their patrols. Once an hour at the most.

Coleman knew better than to argue with Rapp. There were more than a few people back in DC who would flip if they knew he was planning on exposing himself like this, but unlike them, Coleman had seen him in action enough to defer to the younger man's expertise. Rapp was the perfect balance of athleticism, grace, and skill.