"I told you to move. What are you two doing out here anyway, dressed like it's winter in the middle of August? You looking to score? You casing somebody?"
"No, sir," Sam said, finally turning his head just enough to acknowledge the cop while keeping Penhaligan in his peripheral vision.
"Just waiting for a friend, like my buddy said. We'll be gone in a few."
"Stand up," Jenkins ordered.
Jonathan's jaw tightened. Penhaligan had just sat down at a cafe table 50 yards away, placing the briefcase on the ground between his feet. The cartel contact, a heavyset man in a polo shirt, was approaching him. The transaction was about to happen.
"Officer," Jonathan said, dropping his voice a register, shifting from civilian deference to a more authoritative level tone.
"We aren't doing anything wrong. We are sitting on a public bench. I strongly suggest you go check on that family over there or continue your patrol. We are busy."
It was the wrong thing to say to a man like Jenkins. The phrase, I strongly suggest, hit Jenkins's fragile ego like a battering ram. His face flushed red beneath his sunglasses.
"Oh, you strongly suggest?" Jenkins sneered.
He unclipped his radio.
"Dispatch, this is Unit 41. I need a secondary unit at the Olympic Park fountains. I have two noncompliant suspects refusing to vacate. Possible narcotics activity."
"Unit 41. Copy. Secondary unit is en route," the dispatcher replied.
"Paul. Hayes," Cole shouted through the earpiece. "The handoff is happening. Look at Penhaligan."
Jonathan and Sam turned their eyes to the cafe. The heavyset cartel contact had sat down. He was sliding a manila envelope across the table.
"Let me see some ID," Jenkins demanded, pulling out his notepad.
"Both of you, right now. Legal names."
Jonathan and Sam were carrying alias identification. Jonathan was currently Marcus Johnson and Sam was Terrence Wright. But handing over the IDs meant breaking eye contact with the target, digging into their pockets and engaging in a prolonged traffic-stop-style interrogation with a cop who was clearly looking to make an arrest. If they broke cover and pulled their federal badges, Penhaligan would see the commotion, realize the park was hot, and run.
"We don't have our IDs on us, man," Sam lied smoothly, trying to buy time. "Left our wallets in the truck. It's parked over by the CNN Center."
"Is that right?" Jenkins smirked, stepping within arm's reach. He loved this part. The part where he felt total control.
"No ID. Refusing a lawful order. Suspicious behavior. You two are about ten seconds away from eating concrete. Stand up and put your hands behind your back."
"Officer Jenkins," Jonathan said, reading the man's name tag.
He locked eyes with the cop, dropping all pretense of the street persona. His gaze was cold, piercing, and carried the weight of the federal government.
"You are interfering with something much larger than you can understand right now. Walk back to your cruiser. Now."
Jenkins froze for a fraction of a second, unsettled by the sudden shift in Jonathan's demeanor. This wasn't the fearful or angry reaction he was used to getting. This was a command. But Jenkins's arrogance quickly overrode his instincts.
"Are you threatening a police officer, boy?" Jenkins hissed, his hand dropping away from his pepper spray and moving directly to his taser.
"Target is making the exchange. Paul, you have to move in. Go, go, go!" Cole yelled in their ears.
Jonathan and Sam had no choice. They had to execute the arrest on Penhaligan before he left the park with the cartel funds.
"We're moving," Jonathan said to Sam.
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.