“It’s not even five a.m. back there.”

“He’s calling from home. Putting that encrypted line to good use.”

The radio crackled again a few minutes later. Holm reached for the handset but Cota grabbed it. “Firecracker here.” The code name for the chief of station.

“This is Stinson One. I have eyes on the subject. Umm, he’s wearing a jacket.”

“What kind of jacket?”

“A windbreaker type, not too puffy, but maybe loose enough to hide a vest. Request permission for a physical search.”

Do it, Holm mouthed at Cota. He raised a finger to his lips.

“Does he seem nervous? Head down, shuffling his feet?”

“Negative. He’s looking around for me, checking his watch.”

“No search. Subject is friendly and we’re gonna treat him that way. If you think he’s wearing a vest, you’re authorized to take action. But don’t be wrong.”

“Roger that. We’ll bring him in, then.”

The radio clicked off.

“Don’t say it,” Cota said.

“A windbreaker’s not his style. He’s never worn one before.”

“Come on. It’s thirty degrees. And I told Khan he was authorized to take action.”

“You also told him not to be wrong.”

“I think after today Marburg’s getting another case officer.”

They were all locked in, Holm saw. Cota was counting the promotions he’d get for running this op. The security guys would do what Cota said. She wanted to object, but it was too late.

Ten minutes later, Tom Lautner appeared. “They’re at the gate.”

THE OFFICERS FORMED an impromptu welcoming party outside the communications center. The gate rolled open and Ted Khan piloted his rusty old Toyota pickup through the chicane of concrete barriers just inside. Holm waved, and from inside the Toyota, Rashid waved back.