“It was a diversion on Cox’s part, I know.”
“She’s got an emergency number, and the local cops will do a drive-by of the house twice every 24 hours.”
“I understand.”
“Give me a quick status rundown.How are we looking for tomorrow?”
Kate sat up straighter.“We finalized everything at the inter-agency meeting this afternoon.Rodrigues left the signal mark under the Third Avenue Bridge.That’s the trigger.According to him, that’ll bring Cox out.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.He says Cox never appears during the day.So we’re braced for anything between five p.m.and midnight.Could be a long wait.”
“Locations?”
“We’ve got multiple assets in the vicinity of the Church of St.Simon and St.Jude — the Bronx site.Unmarked Bureau cars north and west of the church, NYPD plain-clothes units on foot patrol eastward.There’s a gas-main repair crew up the street — they’re ours.Half a dozen pedestrians wired in with concealed cams.And we’ve got a patrol car and ambulance staged three minutes out.”
“Good.And center stage?”
“Tommy Rodrigues,” Kate said.“Wearing a wire, bullet-resistant vest, transmitter linked to the control van.His story’s that he thinks he’s being followed, wants to meet Cox face-to-face to discuss it.”
Winters was quiet for a moment.“He can handle that?”
Kate hesitated.The image of Tommy from earlier in the day rose in her mind — buoyant, grinning, cracking jokes like a kid on a field trip.Center-stage at the meeting, loving it and not bothering to hide it, either.She decided not to share that.
“He can handle it,” she said.“He understands how important it is.He’s nervous, but steady.”
“I hope you’re right,” Winters said.“It only takes one mistake.”
“I know.”
Another pause — longer this time.Then Winters said, “How do you feel, knowing that by this time tomorrow we could have that bastard in chains?”
Kate tried for a smile.“I feel great about it.”
“Good.Try to get some sleep, Agent Valentine.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The line clicked dead.
Kate sat for a while in the silence that followed, the phone heavy in her hand.Outside, the rain had started again, thin and persistent, tapping at the windowpane like restless fingers.
Marcus’s voice came from the doorway.“You look like hell.”
She turned.He was barefoot, holding a glass of water.“How long were you listening?”
“Long enough to hear ‘bastard’ and ‘chains’.Excited?”
“Sure.”
He dropped onto the sofa, stretching out his legs.“Then why do you look like you’re about to walk in front of a firing squad?”
“Because it feels like that.”
“Come on, Vee.We’ve got this.Tommy’s planted the bait, Cox shows his ugly face, we cuff him.Simple.”
“That’s what worries me,” she said quietly.“Nothing about Cox has ever been simple.”
