The bathroom has a rear exit marked for emergencies. I push through into an alley, turn left, and emerge on the next street over.
Pioneer Courthouse Square is still several blocks northwest. I cut through a parking lot, using vehicles as temporary concealment, and come out on SW Broadway.
The operative appears at the end of the block behind me.
He's not alone anymore. A second man in similar dark clothing approaches from the east, angling to cut off my forward progress. They're coordinating, using the grid layout to bracket my position.
I increase my pace. The square is visible ahead now, recognizable brick plaza with its distinctive stepped seating. TheStarbucks sits on the northwest corner. People are scattered across the space, some sitting on the steps, others cutting through on their way to transit. Not crowded, but enough witnesses to make a grab risky.
The first operative closes the distance, no longer bothering with subtle surveillance. He's gaining ground.
I reach the square and head directly for the Starbucks. Inside, the coffee shop is moderately busy with the after-work crowd. I position myself at a table near the window with clear sight lines to both the square and the entrance.
Order coffee to justify occupying space. I pull out my phone like I'm waiting for someone.
Which I am.
The first operative appears outside, speaking into a radio or phone. The second joins him within moments. They're conferring, probably debating whether to make a move in public or wait for me to leave.
I text Cole:
At Starbucks. Two hostiles outside. Holding position.
His response is immediate:
Copy. Inbound. Stay in public. They won't move with witnesses.
I sip coffee and watch the operatives through the window. They separate, taking positions on opposite sides of the square's entrances. It's a classic surveillance formation, ensuring I can't leave without them tracking which direction I take.
The square stays active with evening foot traffic. Commuters stream from the MAX stops on both sides, heading to restaurants or transferring to other lines. Shoppers movebetween storefronts. Diners cluster outside establishments waiting for tables. The steady flow of witnesses keeps the operatives at a distance, unable to make a move without exposure.
Time stretches. The operatives adjust positions, moving slightly but never closing the gap. Testing my awareness, gauging whether I've spotted them.
I maintain my posture, phone in hand, occasionally sipping coffee. Just another person waiting for a friend, completely oblivious to the surveillance.
Except my other hand rests near the concealed weapon under my jacket, and I've already identified three exit routes from the coffee shop.
My phone vibrates.
Two minutes. Stay inside until you see me pull up to the Broadway side.
I acknowledge the text and watch the street. Evening traffic flows past, brake lights and headlights creating urban patterns. A MAX train rolls through the square, disgorging passengers and picking up new ones.
Then Cole's truck appears, pulling up from the south. He pulls directly up to the curb in a no-parking zone, hazards flashing.
I stand, grab my go-bag, and walk toward the door. The operatives tense, hands moving toward concealed weapons.
The door opens. I'm across the sidewalk in quick strides, pulling the truck's door open and climbing inside.
Cole's already accelerating before I close the door, merging aggressively into traffic. "You good?"
"Operational." I check the side mirror. Both operatives are running toward a dark SUV parked on the next block. "They're mobile. Dark SUV, moving to intercept."
"I see them." Cole takes the next right, heading toward the freeway entrance. His hands are steady on the wheel, movements precise. "Buckle up."
I secure my seatbelt as he accelerates onto the I-405 north ramp, weaving through traffic with practiced aggression. The kind of driving that comes from high-speed pursuit training and combat zone experience.
The SUV appears in the rearview, several cars back but closing. Cole shifts lanes, using a semi-truck as temporary concealment, then cuts across traffic to take the I-5 south exit at the last possible second.
