In Pursuit of Justice (37 page)

Clark nodded. He and every law-enforcement officer at the table knew that the individual at most risk in the entire operation was Jason, who would be unprotected and unarmed in the middle of a potentially violent situation.

For his part, Jason looked relaxed and calm, perfectly at ease. “Once we start receiving the live download, Sloan will be able to pick it up. I’ll be expecting you, and he won’t.” He shrugged as if that settled things.

“All right,” Rebecca said, standing. “We need the surveillance teams to move into position at 6:00. Assume that LongJohn is smart enough to check the area before he enters the café, so keep an eye out for anyone looking into parked vehicles.”

Everyone rose, then moved into separate groups. Rebecca motioned to Catherine with a faint tip of her chin, and the two of them stepped out into the corridor.

“If we’re lucky, we won’t need you,” the detective said quietly.

“I think that I should ride with you and Sloan,” Catherine said just as quietly. “Sloan’s going to be monitoring the actual conversations that Jason and LongJohn are having, isn’t she?”

“That’s the plan.” Rebecca could see where Catherine was going with this tack and searched furiously for an argument to counter it.

“In that case, I need to know what is being said between them as well. That’s the only way I can judge the tenor of the situation, and it will give me a much better idea of LongJohn’s state of mind. If I can be of any help at all, it’s going to be in evaluating the threat risk. And to do that, I need to know what’s being said.”

“She’s right,” Sloan said from a foot away, having approached without their notice. “I was about to suggest the same thing, but I didn’t want to do it in there.”

Her blue eyes sharp as lasers, an acid retort on her lips, Rebecca whirled to face Sloan. With effort, she managed to contain her temper, because the professional part of her knew that what Sloan and Catherine said made sense. And had she been thinking more like a cop and less like a lover, she would have suggested the same thing herself. “You’re right,” she admitted with a sigh.

Sloan, in black jeans and T-shirt, looked worn beyond exhaustion. Her normally vibrant eyes were dull with pain. Directing her next words to Catherine with just a hint of her old charm, she asked, “I assume that you can be trusted to stay in the vehicle if things get crazy?”

“Word of honor,” Catherine agreed, her eyes on Rebecca.

Rebecca rubbed the bridge of her nose with one hand, rapidly making mental readjustments. “Okay, Catherine, you’ll ride with us. I’ll advise Clark and meet you two downstairs.” She turned and walked away, leaving Catherine and Sloan alone.

“How are you doing?” Catherine asked gently.

“Okay,” Sloan lied.

“Michael?”

Sloan shook her head. “She hasn’t regained consciousness yet.” Her eyes searched Catherine’s face. “Are you
sure
she woke up earlier when…”

Catherine placed her hand on Sloan’s arm and squeezed gently. “I’m absolutely positive. She’s just healing, and when her body has restored itself enough, she’ll wake up. It’s going to be all right.”

“Thanks.” Sloan sighed, accepting Catherine’s comfort gratefully.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just take care of yourself. Michael will need you strong when she wakes up.”

Sloan nodded again, then squared her shoulders, her eyes clearing and determination hardening in her face. “We have a long way to go before we get to the people behind this. Tonight’s just the opening move.”

“Well, then,” Catherine replied as they moved down the hall toward the elevators, “let’s be sure to win this round.”

*

Rebecca, Sloan, and Catherine sat in a nondescript beige Ford sedan half a block down and diagonal to the Upstairs Connection. Rebecca continuously scanned the street, watching for anyone who appeared to be watching for
them.
They had arrived an hour before Jason’s appointed rendezvous time. At 6:45, they had seen him come down the street from the direction of the 15th and Market Street subway-surface car stop, which he had taken to get there. At 6:50, he had passed through the street-level door that led to the second-floor cybercafé and disappeared from their view.

Sloan worked silently, monitoring the connection she had established to the Internet using a sniffer software program that allowed her to hack into a local wireless network. She was completely unaware of anyone else’s presence in the vehicle. Right now, keeping Jason safe and apprehending the suspect were her primary objectives. As long as she focused on the screen and the multiple programs she had running, she didn’t think about Michael for at least a few minutes at a time. While she worked, she could almost ignore the constant ache in her chest.

In the backseat, Catherine waited patiently, having learned how to separate herself from the anxiety and distractions of others during her hours of therapy sessions. She had also learned to dissociate herself from her own internal issues and concerns. Doing that in the presence of her lover, whose health and well-being were of paramount concern to her, was more difficult than she had anticipated, however. She found that if she concentrated on trying to understand just what Sloan was doing, it helped. Thus far, from what she could glean from the occasional update provided to Rebecca, she knew that Sloan was now monitoring the chat room where Jason was to meet LongJohn.

“Anything?” Rebecca asked calmly. She sat behind the wheel of the sedan, as relaxed as she usually got during a stakeout.

The long hours of waiting could lull an unsuspecting, inexperienced officer into a state of lassitude, which could result in dulled reflexes and impaired powers of perception. That meant you could be taken by surprise, and
that
could get you killed. She had learned long ago to maintain her level of alertness despite the boredom of inactivity. She constantly surveyed her surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that LongJohn might have brought along an accomplice who was watching for them just as they were watching for LongJohn and Jason. She needed to be certain that they were not followed when
they
followed their quarry.

Sloan shrugged and muttered, “I’m in the chat room. Jason just logged on. No contact yet from LongJohn.”

“Is it possible that he won’t actually come to this location?” Catherine asked. “Physically, I mean?”

“Possible,” Rebecca answered. “He may just have wanted Jason on an unfamiliar machine where he couldn’t use exactly the kind of programs that Sloan’s using now to trace him. I’m still betting that he’ll show here though. He’ll want to get a look at Jason.”

“I agree,” Sloan offered. “Otherwise, I think he would have simply given Jason instructions for the meeting privately, in any of a million rooms they could have gone to. If he’s gotten this far, he trusts that Jason is who he says he is.”

“Either way, if we follow Jason when he leaves here,” Rebecca added, “we’ll get to LongJo—”

“LongJohnXXX just logged on,” Sloan advised, her voice sharp and her attention riveted to her laptop.

“Read out the conversation,” Rebecca ordered.

LongJohnXXX: You there, Big Ten?

BigMac10: You know it. Primed and ready.

LongJohnXXX: What are you wearing?

BigMac10: LOL. Changing horses on me now?

LongJohnXXX: No way, buddy. You know what makes me stiff -- young and pretty and female. But hey, to each his own.

BigMac10: Olive green Dockers and a tan shirt. Pass inspection?

LongJohnXXX: Can’t be too careful

BigMac10: No kidding. What next?

LongJohnXXX: You about ready to take care of business?

BigMac10: Can’t be too soon. I’m hurtin for something to ease my strain

LongJohnXXX: Give me 15, then wait outside. Your chariot’s on the move.

BigMac10: The service is appreciated. I’ll be there.

Rebecca keyed her mike to the frequency Clark and his people were using as well as the radio in Watts and Mitchell’s unmarked car. “Anticipated contact, fifteen minutes. No make or model on subject vehicle.”

A chorus of
Roger
s floated through the air, and then silence.

“Everything seems aboveboard,” Sloan said. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked to Catherine. “What do you think?”

“It seems that the whole purpose of this meeting was for LongJohn to inspect Jason. If he’s not actually inside with Jason right now, he’s somewhere he can watch him come out. I don’t see anything amiss at this point.”

Rebecca set her watch to fourteen minutes and continued her silent vigil.

Jason logged off and checked his watch. He and Sloan had previously discussed communicating via aliases on-line after LongJohn had contacted him but had decided against it. There was no telling if LongJohn had associates who might be monitoring the chat room after his log-off. And it was possible that LongJohn himself was still on-line under yet a different alias, checking to see if there was any unusual activity after his and Jason’s conversation. It seemed safer at this point to follow instructions until they were closer to LongJohn in the flesh.

He looked around the room, which was one large space with a dozen small tables equipped with Internet terminals. At the far end of the room was a small bar that served coffee and a limited selection of junk food. Almost every table was occupied, and no one looked particularly suspicious. Of course, what did the typical pedophile look like? Anyhow, no one seemed to be paying special attention to him.

And at this point, he wasn’t particularly nervous. Playing roles was something that came naturally for him. The threat of physical danger didn’t particularly worry him either. He wasn’t a kickboxer like Sloan or a Kung Fu master like his lover, but he could handle himself in an altercation, if need be. However, if things played out the way he and Sloan had theorized, when the time for the bust came, he doubted that LongJohn was going to pose much of a threat.

He glanced at his watch and smiled to himself. Five minutes till show time.

*

“Smoke?” Watts asked.

“No thanks,” Mitchell replied.

“You mind?”

Mitchell stared in surprise. “It’s your car, Detective.”

“Yeah, but the sarge always busts my balls about it.”

“Well, I guess she can.”

“Yeah.” Watts fumbled through the pocket of his jacket until he found the crumpled pack of Camels and fingered one free. After cracking the window a couple of inches, he made an attempt to direct the smoke in that direction. “You ever been on a No Knock bust before?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll go through the door first, and I want to feel your balls…uh, your…whatever, right up against my backside the whole way. You stick to me like we’re two dogs screwing.”

“I can handle that,” Mitchell said expressionlessly. She wondered if Watts had any idea what cadet training was like at West Point. She could crawl through ditches under live fire without flinching. Had done it, leading a platoon of cadets.

“Good. I don’t want you getting separated and end up shooting me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Detective.”

He glanced at her, assessing her tone and expression. She looked perfectly steady and certain. “You scared, kid?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He settled his butt a little more comfortably on the seat and continued to smoke in silence. Until he had gotten hooked up with Rebecca Frye, he’d never worked with a woman before. Not one-on-one. Now he couldn’t get away from them. It sure was a different world.

*

Precisely fourteen minutes after his log-off, Jason McBride exited through the doors of the Upstairs Connection and walked to the intersection of 17th and Market. A blue Mercedes SUV, driving south on 17th, pulled up next to him, and the driver’s window descended smoothly.

Rebecca saw Jason lean down, nod once, and walk around the front of the vehicle to slide into the front passenger seat. She keyed her mike and started her engine. “We have contact.” She gave a verbal description of the vehicle, knowing that Mitchell and Watts would run it through VI, Vehicle Identification, as they drove.

She pulled into traffic allowing several cars and a minivan to move between her and the SUV. They drove just below the speed limit through the city to the on-ramp to Interstate 95. A minute or two later, Mitchell’s voice came over the radio.