She didn't say anything, didn't trust herself to. Her hatred of Ursula was absolute. If she got an opportunity to kill that witch, she'd do it and make it look like self-defense.
"Whatever Cornejo's reason," McBride said, "we're also concerned there could be a leak on the Agency's end. It would explain how he found you. And if he managed to get your address, he could probably get Harv's and mine as well. He could come for any of us at any time. But before the special election seems the most likely."
"All the more reason to kill them all," Linda said. "And sooner than later."
"That's not our mission. Cantrell wants them alive."
"A pity." She watched the men exchange a glance. "If I'm going with you guys, I'll need my emergency duffle. No offense, McBride, but Angelica's clothes aren't the best of fits and I need my tactical gear." She told them where she kept it.
"I'll call Cantrell to arrange something." McBride softened his tone. "She wanted me to assure you that Glen would be taken care of."
She felt her expression go blank.
"We're really sorry," Fontana said.
"You did well, Linda. Not one in a million people would've survived that attack."
She nodded. "Where are we going?"
McBride relayed what they'd learned from Cantrell about Cornejo's business center in Santa Monica.
"I'd still like to get my bag right away."
"How about this?" said Fontana. "One of Cantrell's people can leave it at the base of the stairs below the bluff. We'll grab it before we head north."
"I must look terrible. That guy nailed me pretty good."
Nathan winked at her. "You look like you were engaged in a fight to the death. A fight you won." His phone went off. "Here we go . . ." He read the text. "Cantrell wants us on the move. Right away."
CHAPTER 14.
To save time, all three of them went on LG's duffle-retrieval run. Since Harv's sedan was all shot up, Nathan suggested they use his second vehicle, a big four-door Lincoln MKZ that Angelica normally drove. Linda favored his 2010 Mustang, but it was a little small and Nathan thought it might draw more attention than they wanted. As usual, Harv did the driving.
Linda's tactical gear retrieved, they didn't talk much during their drive north to Santa Monica. Harv attempted some small talk, but it never got too far. The shock of the attack had worn off and Linda had withdrawn. Figuratively and literally, she'd been kicked in the stomach. It was best to give her some space.
Nathan used the downtime to read aloud the files Cantrell had sent. For years, until they retired, the twins had basically acted as hired muscle for the Caracas-based cartel Cornejo had been associated with. As Linda had said, the twins had committed every kind of crime during those years: Contract killing. Extortion. Racketeering. And worst of all, human trafficking in the slave trade-including children. He found it hard to disagree with LG's earlier assessment about just killing them. But like a good combat soldier, he'd follow Cantrell's orders. If she wanted them alive, they'd deliver them alive.
Per texted instructions from Cantrell, they made a brief stop at the Hawthorne Costco on Hindry Avenue in southwestern metro Los Angeles to pick up the encrypted radios they'd use for tonight's op. Cantrell had said the radios would be in an unlocked white sedan in the northeast corner of the Costco parking lot, facing Rosecrans. When he stepped out into the dark parking lot and grabbed the plastic grocery bag from the sedan, Nathan knew he was being watched, but resisted the urge to look around.
The bag contained four radios and an eight-by-ten aerial photograph. Written on the back of the photo was information about the radios. They were UHF, ultrahigh frequency, and they'd work well inside buildings. All they had to do was turn them on. Locked to a preset frequency, each radio came with a wireless, wraparound earpiece and boom-mike combo. The spare radio had the same capability. Nathan noticed there was no LCD or other type of screen that would produce light. The instruction sheet also indicated they could be set for auto-voice activation or manual, and they had battery lives of six hours.
The center of the aerial photo showed their target building, outlined by highlighter pen. Santa Monica Exotics occupied the northwest corner of a city block. An alley ran along the building's eastern side, intersecting another alley that ran behind the building to the south. A large street-Olympic Boulevard-fronted the dealership, while the smaller Stewart Street bordered the building to the west. Several hundred yards south of the dealership, Stewart Street crossed a local light-rail line.
"The surrounding buildings don't look like apartments or condos. The roofs and shapes are wrong for residential."
"It's probably a mix of commercial and light manufacturing," Harv said. "It's been a long time since I was on that stretch of Olympic, if ever."
"Me too. LG?"
She shook her head.
Nathan relayed the additional info written on the back of the photo. Harv, Linda, and he would be designated as Kilo unit, the military and aviation phonetic word for the letter K. Nathan would be Kilo One, Harv Kilo Two, and Linda Kilo Three.
They didn't know the CIA surveillance team's code designator yet but would get it when they made contact. Nathan suspected they'd be talking with one of the CIA's elite Special Activities Division teams, which meant that they'd be all business. No lighthearted banter would be exchanged or wanted, despite this being a fairly light task for such a team. Before Harv and he had retired from CIA duty, they'd done reconnaissance and surveillance many times-a mostly tedious and boring assignment.
They took a few more minutes to study the photo before heading back to the freeway.
Their drive fell into silence again until, after a few miles, Nathan said, "We're about ten minutes out. Let's take a few minutes and go over some hand signals." Everyone knew radios can fail, become damaged, or get dislodged, and there could be situations where whispering might not be possible. LG seemed okay reviewing the gestures and didn't seem the slightest bit indignant, which probably meant she needed the refresher course.
A mile and a half away, Harv checked the time. 4:20 a.m. "Traffic should be nonexistent," he said.
"We'll cruise past our target once, then turn on our radios and make contact with Cantrell's team. She knows we're approaching the dealership; she's tracking my phone. Harv, you look for cameras along the glass front. LG, you look down the alley to the south. I'll be looking for people sitting in cars or anything else that looks out of place."
"Looks out of place?" LG echoed. "Care to elaborate on that?"
Her tone made Nathan uneasy, so he said nothing.
"Nate doesn't know what will look out of place, but he'll know it when he sees it."
"Chances are, nothing will look out of place," she said. "We'll cruise past a well-lighted showroom packed with vehicles few people can afford-present company excluded."
"That includes you, LG," he said.
Harv stepped in. "Let's just wait and see what we see. The nav says it's the next corner. There's someone behind me about fifty yards back. I'm going to pull over to the curb and act like I'm on my phone. His headlights are gonna nail us. It might be best if you guys duck down. A car with one occupant at this hour is far less suspicious, especially to a cop."
Nathan complied, but it was a tight fit. He had to lean sideways toward Harv's lap. "If you grab my ears, I'll kill you slowly."
"You mean that's not normal behavior for you two?"
Nathan didn't respond, but found himself smiling at the crass comment. He watched the headlight intrusion grow and with it, his unease. Given all the tactical gear in the car, there'd be no explaining it. The interior of his sedan brightened to the bursting point, then faded.
"There's another car coming," Harv said, "but he's pretty far back. We're rolling."
The showroom looked exactly like LG had predicted. A few windows glowed on the second and third floors, but they weren't bright. Nathan saw an issue right away; they all did. Santa Monica Exotics had a glass facade along the sidewalk, but six-foot-high accordion-like security bars sat behind the glass. If things got heavy once they were inside, they'd be able to break the windows and exit out to either street, but they'd have to scramble over the bars first.
All of SME's classics were inside the building. Just as the aerial photo showed, intersecting alleys separated the dealership from its fellow businesses to the south and east. A sign tagged SME's eastern neighbor as Matthew's Heating and Air Conditioning Supply. Some kind of light industrial building sat opposite the south alley.
Nathan was no engineer, but figured the dealership's huge interior floor-to-ceiling truss just behind the security bars made up for the loss in shear strength from the glass facade. The place had the feel of a modern airport concourse. He admired the architecture, then withdrew the thought. This obscene display of wealth was the result of Cornejo's blood money.
Maybe I'll burn it down, he thought, but finding the sprinkler system's shutoff valve could take time, a luxury they likely wouldn't have. And there was a risk a fire could spread to the neighboring buildings. Maybe a few dozen whacks with lug wrenches were in order.
He hadn't seen any video cameras on the interior, but several exterior cameras were mounted above the glass front, including a camera overlooking the entrance to the alley. He felt confident there'd be a camera overlooking the other alley's entrance as well.
"What do you think, Harv? If we had to, could we grapple across from that building to the east?"
"Hard to say without getting a look. We may not have to. Cantrell's team may have already done the scouting. Let's hope they found a hole in the surveillance. Even if we can't be identified, we still have to avoid being seen on camera."
LG spoke up. "Can we all agree that if anyone sees three people wearing black clothing, ski masks, and goggles stalking their building, they won't ignore it?"
"You have a gift for understatement," Nathan said. "When was the last time you shimmied across a rope line?"
"Well, let me think . . . I don't have one set up in my backyard."
Her sarcasm had returned in force.
"I'm sure it will come back to you."
"Nate, she's got a low-grade concussion. Hanging upside down from a rope isn't such a good idea."
"I can handle it."
"Harv's right; besides, we don't need to make this decision right now."
"I said I can handle it," she said more forcefully.
"And I said we don't have to decide this right now."
"Who put you in charge? Last I looked, I outranked you."
"Same old LG."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you haven't changed."
"And you have?"
"For the worse, I'm afraid."
"Ah, guys, if I can jump in," Harv said. "I really think we should stay focused."
"If you don't mind, I'd like to finish our argument first," she said.
Nathan took a deep breath. There'd been a time in his life when he would've lashed out, but calmness won the moment. LG's husband had been murdered and that earned her some latitude. Some, but within limits. He fully expected Harv to intervene and that's exactly what happened.
"Linda, with all due respect, you can't command this mission. You're too close to it. If we were still active, you'd be sidelined. I'm not saying you can't handle command calls, but it's more complex than that. Split-second decisions may have to be made and those decisions have to be completely objective."
She didn't say anything.
"We haven't worked with you in many years and we're about to go on a combat mission full of unknown variables. Cantrell got a positive nod from DNI Benson to include you because of our involvement. She trusts us and Benson trusts her. You know how the intelligence community works. It's no small thing she did. She's on the hook if we screw this up. We're not trying to pick on you, but you need to understand that none of us would be here if it weren't for Nathan."
"Sorry, McBride. I guess I'm a little on edge."
"Forget it. We're in this together."
Harv turned onto a side street and pulled to the curb. "Let's change clothes and do a final equipment check before we power our radios."
Nathan always felt butterflies just prior to a mission. He'd long ago learned not to fight the feeling. It reminded him that the slightest mistake could prove fatal.
Because they didn't want to look like special forces on the drive up, they'd worn civilian attire. Each of them now changed into their black tactical clothing, donned their ballistic vests, waist packs, and night-vision visors. Once they were safely inside the building, they'd put on their ski masks and tinted goggles. Each of their waist packs held a thermal imager, a suppressed pistol with a grip-activated laser sight, extra ammo, duct tape, and various other items they might need.
Nathan broke the silence. "Are you good, LG?"
"I was just venting."
"Hey, it's allowed."
"To answer your question, I haven't flipped my switch yet, but I will when the time comes."
"Fair enough." Nathan knew exactly what she meant because he and Harv used the same mental technique. Even though LG said she was okay, Nathan needed confirmation. "How's your concussion?"
"I'm feeling some mild symptoms, mostly in the form of a headache. My vision's good and I'm not feeling any unsteadiness from the Special K. If I felt the slightest bit impaired, I'd tell you guys."
If she'd said anything less, Nathan would've left her in the car. There was no way she could've sustained the kind of head trauma she had and have zero symptoms.
"Did I pass your test?"
"Knowing it was a test prejudices the result, but, yeah, you passed."
"And if I hadn't?"
"You'd sit this out."
"That would be . . . unsatisfying."
"Better to be unsatisfied than dead."
"Amen to that," Harv said.
"Well, now that we have the small talk out of the way, can we get in there and kick some asses?"
Nathan smiled and looked at Harv. "I think that could be arranged. Let's hope Cantrell's team found a hole in the video surveillance. We'll know within the next thirty seconds when we make contact." The tingling in his stomach intensified. "You feeling it, LG?"
"Oh, yeah. Despite my earlier indiscretion, it's good to be working with you guys again."
"Likewise."
"Rules of engagement?" she asked.
"Deadly force only if warranted, but no one hesitates. We shoot first and ask questions later. No friendlies are expected inside. If Tomas and Ursula are in there, we take them alive, but not at all costs. One more thing. No summary executions."
"That's directed at me," she said.