Edge

present who were more talented at this sort of thing than I. Lowering my hand, I watched the transit of the light-colored car.
    Was it the lifter? This road didn’t lead to the battlefield; it didn’t lead anywhere, really. The occupants could be kids here to smoke grass or drink or make out. It could be a Civil War buff who wanted to experience the historic site from this angle. Manassas also had its share of meth cookers. Maybe a deal was going down.
    Before reaching the parking lot where Zagaev’s car was idling, the new vehicle pulled off into the bushes.
    Then came a whisper through my earbud: “Team Three. Two males exiting vehicle, civilian clothing. One is armed, handgun. Proceeding toward parking lot through brush.”
    Loving and his partner. I’d hoped they’d both be here.
    “Roger. All teams, stay in position. No motion, no sound. Sniper one, can you target the subject vehicle?”
    “Negative.”
    “Roger.”
    I wondered momentarily if the partner was Loving’s protégé, as I had been Abe’s and Claire duBois mine. Did Loving lecture about the rules of play the way I had been lectured and I lectured now? This seemed at first a crazy thought but then I asked myself, why? Tradecraft of all types had to be mastered.
    “Team Two. Subjects are on western perimeter of the parking lot, observing Zagaev’s vehicle.”
    Freddy’s voice whispered, “Move Omar’s head around but not so he’s looking back toward them.”
    “Roger that.”
    The robot glanced to the side. The head dipped. Whoever guided the mannequin was an artist.
    “Subjects’re checking out the park. Okay, they’re separating, moving up on either side of the car. Be advised, both have weapons now. Autoloader handguns.”
    “Copy that.”
    So they weren’t going for a sniper shot; they were going to take him from behind, close. Just shoot him and have done with it.
    Or, I reflected, this might not be a kill at all.Maybe their intention was for the partner to cover the transaction as Loving collected the money. They would shake hands and leave.
    I was breathing hard, forcing myself not to strain forward for a glimpse but staying low in the brush. Suddenly I felt a trickle down my spine and looked behind me fast, though I knew Loving couldn’t have come up behind me here, not with the tactical agents arrayed as they were.
    I saw nothing but saplings and brush.
    “Tac Op Leader. We’ve got a visual. Both suspects are in confinement positions.”
    Freddy said, “You’re greenlighted.”
    “Roger. Greenlighted. On my command, Teams Three and One, flash-bangs . . . then move in, flanking and rear. Hold . . . hold . . .”
    I wondered what the communications here had been like in July of 1861 when troops had been preparing to engage.
    “Now. Move in, move in!”
    I heard a series of explosions and saw flashes as the tactical ops teams sped forward.
    My hand was cramping—my left hand, not the one I used for shooting—and I was half rising from cover. I sucked in air. I realized that I hadn’t been breathing for a good thirty seconds or more.
    The teams converged, screaming, as they were instructed to do, “FBI, FBI, on the ground, let me see your hands! Let me see your hands!”
    “We’ve got—” one started to radio.
    A long pause. “Team Three to Tac Op Leader. Need you here. Now.”
    What was going on?
    “I don’t get it. . . .”
    “Shit.”
    My heart sank at the transmissions, hardly what you would have hoped for in a successful operation.
    And, moving from cover, I made a deduction that proved to be true. The two men sneaking up on Omar were displaying what appeared to be law enforcement shields. They were, of course, detectives from Prince William County, here to investigate the reports of a drug deal or cries for help that Loving had undoubtedly called in the minute he hung up from speaking with Zagaev.
    A call made to distract us while he orchestrated his escape.

Chapter 53
    I WAS SPEAKING to Claire duBois.
    “Loving’s on the run. He might be driving but I think he wants to get clear of the area. Data mine flight reservations. I want to know anybody who bought a ticket, after he talked to Zagaev—about three p.m.—for travel today. Maybe from Dulles, National or BWI but I think he’s still going to be avoiding them, especially now that he suspects we’ve turned Zagaev.”
    “Amtrak?” duBois asked.
    “Freddy’s told the police at Union Station to look for him. But I’m betting he