The Detachment

laughed.
    “It looks promising,” I said. “But there a few things to consider. And a few we need.”
    They looked at me.
    “Potential opposition aside,” I said, “the first class at UCLA begins at what, ten o’clock? So how early will we need to be in position?”
    “No later than eight,” Treven said. “And probably earlier.”
    “Right,” I said. “And if we’re thinking that, then Horton’s guys are thinking the same. That’s what they’ll be looking for.”
    “Sunup,” Larison said. “Earlier, in fact.”
    “Agreed,” I said. “The key will be to get there earlier than we would reasonably need to for Kei—because Horton’s guys expect us to be hunting Kei, when in fact, we’ll be hunting them.”
    “Works out well anyway,” Dox said. “I mean, we really don’t know very much about her patterns. Does she like to go in early for a workout? Or to meet a friend for breakfast on campus, or to study in the library? We’ve been watching her for barely twenty-four hours, it could be anything. So we can’t afford to time things so precisely regardless. The earlier we get in position, the better, assuming we can find good concealment.”
    Spoken like a true sniper, I thought. Waiting out a target was second nature for Dox. I think part of him even enjoyed it.
    “All right,” I said, “we need to be in position before it gets light. Which means we have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. To start with, I want to get a firsthand look at her neighborhood. Discreetly. Maybe on a bicycle. I mean, who ever looks suspicious on a bicycle?”
    Larison said, “What else?”
    “A vehicle. Overall, the U-Haul truck is great cover. But if anyone witnesses the snatch, a U-Haul truck is going to be remembered, and looked for, like a giant neon sign. Even if we swap in some stolen plates, the truck itself will be radioactive.”
    “That’s a good point,” Treven said. “Well, a panel truck would work. Could borrow one from a long-term parking lot. I doubt it would be missed until after it didn’t matter.”
    “I’m thinking the same thing,” I said. “We park the truck somewhere nice and quiet, use the stolen panel truck for the snatch, and break the circuit by transferring Kei from one to the other. Let’s start walking this thing through.”
    Dox popped a Red Bull and smiled. “Maybe I should have bought a few more of these.”

I t was a long but productive night. One stolen GMC panel van; one stolen Ford Fusion; assorted items from a hardware store, a sporting goods place, a supermarket. Mapping out Kei’s neighborhood. Identifying the ideal spot for the snatch, and for the switch. Planning the op; positioning the vehicles. We’d slept for a few hours, gotten up while it was still dark, dispersed, and then regrouped near Kei’s house before sunup.
    One problem from our perspective was that Selma Avenue, and La Baig, which led into it, permitted no parking on the street—not even any stopping, according to the signs. So if we parked the van anywhere near her house, we ran the risk of an annoyed neighbor coming out to talk to us or even calling the police. The good news was, there was a motel on the corner, a long, pink and blue, two-storied affair that stretched along the west side of La Baig for about two hundred feet starting at the corner of Sunset. We had parked the van there, on the side of the lot closest to Kei’s house, front end in, rear end facing La Baig. If Larison’s and Treven’s intel was sound, and Kei stuck to what we preliminarily assumed was her routine, we would be good to go. And if Horton’s guys were trying to identify trouble before it reached Kei, the first spot they’d check would be exactly where we’d parked the van.
    Which is why three of us were watching it now: Larison, from between two parked cars in the driveway of a small apartment building across the street; Treven, from the dark stairwell in the center of the motel; and I, from a prone position on the balcony of the motel directly above the van. Dox was waiting in the stolen Fusion a few miles away. The chances of someone stumbling upon any of us at this hour were slim, but if it happened, Treven and Larison were dressed in the latest Nikes and Under Armour, just another couple of early morning L.A. fitness fanatics. I was less sportily attired, in jeans and a sweatshirt, and would have to be a drunk sleeping it off. Thin cover for action, but reasonable under the circumstances, and