door shut, the metallic thud echoing across the quiet park. Back on the bench, Sam's peripheral vision caught the flashing light bar of the cruiser reflecting off the water of the fountain. Dave, Sam whispered, keeping his head perfectly still, we have a local at three o'clock, and he's making a beeline right for us.
Jonathan cursed softly under his breath. Cole, you got eyes on this APD cruiser? I see him on the traffic cams, Cole replied, his voice tense. He's not responding to our local liaison. He's gone rogue.
Do not blow your cover. Panhalagan is less than 60 seconds away. Play it cool. Brush the cop off. We cannot lose this drop.
Easier said than done, Jonathan muttered, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jenkins strutted towards them, his hand resting arrogantly on his gun belt, his chest puffed out, seeking a confrontation. Officer Jenkins stopped about 10 feet from the bench, planting his boots wide. He adjusted his aviator sunglasses and stared down at Jonathan and Sam with a look of absolute contempt. Park's closed for maintenance in this section, Jenkins barked, his voice dripping with unearned authority. It was a blatant lie.
A family of four was literally feeding pigeons 50 yards away, and a jogger had just passed behind the bench. Jonathan leaned back slightly, adopting a relaxed, non-threatening posture. He knew how to play this game. He had dealt with cops like Jenkins before he ever earned his FBI shield. Just taking a load off, Officer, Jonathan said calmly, his voice smooth and respectful.
It's hot out here. We're just catching some shade. We'll be out of your hair in 5 minutes. Sam kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending to watch the water fountain. In reality, he was scanning the northern entrance of the park.
There was a tall, gaunt white man in a sharp gray suit carrying a brushed-steel briefcase. Arthur Penhaligan, the target, had arrived. Target is on site, Cole's voice cracked urgently in their ears. He's approaching the drop zone. Do not engage the officer.
Maintain surveillance. Jenkins didn't like Jonathan's calm demeanor. It didn't feed his ego. He stepped closer, invading their personal space, the smell of cheap cologne and stale coffee radiating off him. I didn't ask if you were catching shade, Jenkins snapped, his hand tightening on his belt.