"Frank, how far out is Lieutenant Vance?"
"Two minutes."
"Tell her not to come down our street. Tell her to position one unit at the north corner and one at the south corner. I do not want him to see police cars coming and decide to run before they can box him in. When she is in position, I want her to call me. I will signal her when to move."
"Yes, sir."
Harlan stepped away from the desk. He walked to Isaiah and rested one hand briefly on the boy's shoulder. "I'm going to take you to your mother in just a moment. There is one last thing I have to do. Stay with Frank."
"Yes, sir."
Harlan walked toward the revolving doors. Garrett straightened slightly as he approached. "Sir—"
"I am going to walk out, Garrett. I'm going to walk to the car. I'm not going to get in. I'm going to stand at the rear door, and I am going to speak to him through the window. I want you to stay exactly where you are. If he reaches for anything below the dashboard, I want you to come through that door and get me out of the way. Do you understand?"
"Sir, please, let the lieutenant handle this when she arrives."
"She will. But she is two minutes out, and he has been sitting at that curb for two hours. And a man who has been sitting at a curb for two hours waiting to take another man somewhere he will not come back from does not deserve another two minutes of patience from me. I am not going to do anything foolish. I am going to keep him talking until the units are in position. That is all."
Garrett looked at him for a long second. Then he nodded once.
Harlan pushed through the revolving door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The morning had warmed slightly; the street was nearly empty. He walked at his ordinary pace, his portfolio in one hand, his coat unbuttoned, the way he had walked toward two hundred mornings of waiting cars.