Both agents stood up simultaneously, their eyes fixed on the cafe table 50 yards away, completely ignoring Jenkins.
"I said, hands behind your back!" Jenkins roared, entirely misinterpreting their movement.
In his mind, they were either trying to flee or attack him. Before Jonathan could take a step toward Penhaligan, Jenkins lunged. Jenkins grabbed Jonathan by the shoulder of his hoodie and violently yanked him backward. Jonathan, caught off guard and focused entirely on the cartel target, stumbled against the heavy iron armrest of the bench.
"Back off!" Sam shouted, pivoting to intervene, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
"You're making a mistake!" Sam shouted.
"Assaulting an officer! Resisting arrest!" Jenkins screamed, spiraling into a panic of his own making. He pulled his taser and jammed it directly into Sam's chest.
"Get on the ground, or you ride the lightning!"
At the cafe table, the heavyset cartel contact heard the shouting. He looked over, saw a police officer grappling with two men, and instantly recognized the chaotic signs of a bust. He grabbed the briefcase, shoved the envelope back at Penhaligan, and took off, sprinting toward the street. Penhaligan didn't hesitate.
He bolted in the opposite direction, melting into the crowd of tourists.
"No!" Jonathan yelled, watching 2 years of undercover work evaporate in front of his eyes.
"Cole! Target is running. North exit, gray suit!"
"We see him. Units are too far out. He's getting into a cab. Damn it, Paul. We lost the money," Cole replied, his voice furious, echoing painfully in Jonathan's earpiece. The realization that the operation was dead washed over Jonathan like ice water. The cartel money was gone.
The ledger was gone. And it was all because of a racist beat cop who couldn't leave well enough alone. A cold, dark fury settled in Jonathan's chest.
"On the ground!" Jenkins screamed again, spit flying from his lips as he shoved Sam hard against the back of the bench.
"Take it easy. We're complying."
Sam gritted his teeth, allowing Jenkins to force him chest first against the hot iron slats of the bench. Sam knew better than to fight a uniformed officer, even if the officer was dead wrong. Survival came first. The truth would come out in about two minutes.