Joe hit a switch lowering the window. “Can I help you?”
“This thing have seat warmers?” Gamay Trout asked.
“Front and back,” Joe said. He unlocked the doors. Gamay took the front seat, while Paul stretched out in the back.
As the door closed, Gamay pulled off her gloves, turned up the heater fan, and began rubbing her hands vigorously in front of the nearest vent. In the back seat, Paul pulled off the glasses, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly.
“You all right?” Joe asked.
“Just trying not to throw up,” Paul said. “Looking at the world through the drone’s-eye view while using your own eyes to see the terrain around you is terribly disorienting.”
Joe could imagine. “Doesn’t sound fun. But step back outside if you think you’re going to toss your cookies. I just had this thing detailed.”
“I’m good,” Paul said, taking deep slow breaths.
“How long has Kurt been in there?” Gamay asked.
“Only a few minutes,” Joe said.
“What exactly does he hope to accomplish?” Paul asked.
“He wanted to put the Chinese on notice. Reminding them that we’re still here,” Joe said. “While also screwing up whatever meeting they were coming to take part in. We have to assume that whoever their contact is, he or she probably won’t show once they spot Kurt walking around.”
“We could have just kept an eye on them and followed them when they left,” Paul noted.
“I suggested that,” Joe said. “Kurt figured this method had some ‘additional intangible value.’ ”
The three of them laughed. They all knew what that meant. Kurt wanted to irritate the Chinese to the greatest extent possible.
Knowing Kurt’s plan, they watched the tavern, waiting for a Hollywood-style brawl to kick off. But instead of smashed bottles, patrons running from every exit, and someone getting tossed through the front window, the only activity they witnessed was a back door opening and a scruffy man in an oversized coat stepping outside.
He leaned against the wall, fumbling for something in his coat pocket, and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Using his bare hands to remove one, he stuck it between his lips. A match flared as he lit the cigarette, and a blue cloud of smoke caught the light as he exhaled.
“It’s ten degrees outside,” Gamay said. “The guy must really need that smoke.”
“Why come outside?” Joe said. “European places let you smoke as much as you want.”
“Maybe he’s an American,” Paul joked.
The words had been tossed out casually, but suddenly the idea took hold. Gamay turned to her husband. “Paul?”
“Already on it,” Paul said. He was unfolding the glasses and getting used to them again. The drone was hovering out of sight a half block away, where it could keep an eye on the van. He directed it to move closer and to point its camera at the huddling figure. Once the drone had focused its cameras, Paul neatly broadcast it to the vehicle’s navigation screen via Bluetooth so everyone could see it.
The man was young and thin, with short hair and a week of patchy scruff on his face. He wore a withered look, as if he hadn’t eaten much. A bruise and abrasion on his cheek stood out.
“That’s the guy who was driving the van,” Paul said.
Gamay recognized him as someone else. “That’s one of the hijackers. Ridley Wiles.” They’d all seen the photos and studied them, but Gamay had a knack for recognizing faces.
“So, the Chinese are meeting someone here,” Joe said. “But why is this guy sitting out back with the alley cats and the trash cans?”
“Maybe he’s waiting for Kurt to leave the building,” Paul said.
The cigarette was flicked aside and the man they assumed to be Ridley ducked back into the warmth and shelter of the tavern.
“I have an idea,” Gamay said. “Let’s grab him and take him into custody.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Joe asked.
