More Twisted

First, they’d make it seem that they believed the cyanide threat. Since Trotter probably knew York went to the propane store every Saturday around lunchtime, the businessman would take the cigars and food to the police, apparently for testing, which would occupy them for several hours. Trotter would be following. York would then leave and run some errands, among them picking up a new propane canister. Only it wouldn’t be Stephen York in the car, but Detective Peter Billings, the look-alike. Billings would collect a new propane tank from Rodriguez’s—though it would be empty, for safety’s sake—and then stash it in his car. He’d then return to the store to browse and Lampert and his teams would wait for Trotter to make his move.
    “So where’s our boy?” Lampert asked his partner.
    Alvarado explained that Trotter had left his house about the same time as York and headed in the same direction. They’d lost him in traffic for a time but then picked him up at a Whole Foods grocery store lot within walking distance of Rodriguez’s. One officer saw him inside.
    Lampert called the other players in the setup. “It’s going down,” he announced.
    Doing his impersonation of York, Billings walked outside, got into the car and headed into traffic. Eberhart and York climbed into one of the chase cars and eased after him, though well behind so they wouldn’t get spotted by Trotter if he was, in fact, trailing Billings.
    Twenty minutes later the undercover cop pulled up in front of Rodriguez’s Garden Supplies, and Eberhart, York beside him, parked in a mini-mall lot a block away. Lampert and the teams moved into position nearby. “Okay,” Billings radioed through his hidden mike, “I’m getting the tank, going inside.”
    York and Eberhart leaned forward to watch what was happening. York could just make out his Mercedes up the street.
    Lampert called over the radio, “Any sign of Trotter?”
    “Hasn’t come out of Whole Foods yet,” sounded through the speaker of the walkie-talkie dashboard.
    Billings came on a moment later. “All units. I’ve loaded the fake tank in the car. The backseat. I’m going back inside.”
    Fifteen minutes later York heard a cop’s voice urgently saying, “Have something . . . . Guy in a hat and sunglasses, could be Trotter approaching the Mercedesfrom the east. He’s got a shopping bag in one hand and something in the other. Looks like a small computer. Might be a detonator. Or the device itself.”
    The security specialist nodded at Stephen York, sitting beside him, and said, “Here we go.”
    “Got him on visual,” another cop said.
    The surveillance officer continued. “He’s looking around . . . . Hold on . . . . Okay, the suspect just walked by York’s car. Couldn’t see for sure, but he paused. Think he might’ve dropped something underneath it. Now he’s crossing the street . . . . He’s going into Miguel’s.”
    Lampert radioed, “That’ll be where he’ll detonate the device from . . . . All right, people, let’s seal off the street and get an undercover inside Miguel’s to monitor him.”
    Eberhart lifted an eyebrow to York and smiled. “This is it.”
    “Hope so” was the uneasy response.
    Now officers were moving in slowly, sticking close to the buildings on either side of Miguel’s Bar and Grill, where Trotter’d be waiting for “York” to return to the car, detonate the device and burn him to death.
    A new voice came on the radio. “I’m inside Miguel’s,” came a whisper from the second undercover cop. “I see the subject by the window on a stool, looking out. No weapons in sight. He’s opened up what he was carrying before—a small computer or something, antenna on it. He just typed something. Assume that the device is armed.”
    Lampert radioed, “Roger. We’re in position, three behind Miguel’s, two in front. The street’s been barricaded and Rodriguez’s is clear; we got everybody out the back door. We’re ready for the takedown.”
    In Eberhart’s car, the security man kept up an irritating drumming with his fingertips on the steering wheel.
    York tried to tune it out, wondering, Would Trotter resist? Maybe he’d panic and—
    He jumped as Eberhart’s hand gripped his arm hard. The security man was looking in the rearview mirror. He was frowning. “What’s that?”
    York turned. On the trunk was a small shopping bag. While they’d been staring at York’s Mercedes, somebody had put it