right along the wall of the shelter and in through the door.
Froelich was detailing positions for each of the general-duty
agents. Four would be at the entrance to the yard. Six would
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line the approach to the serving area. One would secure
each end of the pen, from the outside. Three would patrol the
exit line.
‘OK, listen up,’ Froelich called. ‘Remember, it’s very easy to
look a little like a homeless person, but very hard to look exactly like a homeless person. Watch their feet. Are their shoes
right? Look at their hands. We want to see gloves, or ingrained
dirt. Look at their faces. They need to be lean. Hollow cheeks.
We want to see dirty hair. Hair that hasn’t been washed for a
month or a year. We want to see clothes that are moulded to the
body. Any questions?’
Nobody spoke.
‘Any doubt at all, act first and think later,’ Froelich called. ‘I’m
going to be serving behind the tables with the Armstrongs and
the personal detail. We’re depending on you not to send us
anybody you don’t like, OK?’
She checked her watch. ‘Five past twelve,’ she said. ‘Fifty-five
minutes to go.’
Reacher squeezed through at the left-hand end of the serving
tables and stood in the pen. Behind him was a wall. To his right
was a wall. To his left were the shelter windows. Ahead to his
right was the approach line. Any individual would pass four
agents at the yard entrance and six more as he shuffled along.
Ten suspicious pairs of eyes before anybody got face to face
with Armstrong himself. Ahead to the left was the exit line.
Three agents funnelling people into the hall. He raised his eyes.
Dead ahead were the warehouses. Five sentries on five roofs.
Crosetti waved. He waved back.
‘OK?’ Froelich asked.
She was standing across the serving table from him. He
smiled.
‘Dark or light?’ he asked.
‘We’ll eat later,’ she said. ‘I want you and Neagley freelance in
the yard. Stay near the exit line, so you get a wide view.’
‘OK,’ he said.
‘Still think I’m doing well?’
He pointed left. ‘I don’t like thosewindows,’ he said. ‘Suppose
somebody bides his time all the way through the line, keeps his
head down, behaves himself, picks up his food, makes it inside,
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sits down, and then pulls a gun and fires back through the
window?’
She nodded. ‘Already thought about it,’ she said. ‘I’m bringing
three cops in from the perimeter. Putting one in each
window, standing up, facing the room.’
That should do it,’ he said. ‘Great job.’
‘And we’re going to be wearing vests,’ she said. ‘Every, body in
the pen. The Armstrongs, too.’
She checked her watch again. ‘Forty-five minutes,’ she said.
‘Walk with me.’
They walked out of the yard and across the street to where
she had parked her Suburban. It was in a deep shadow made by
the warehouse wall. She unlocked the tailgate and swung it
open. The shadow and the tinted glass made it dark inside. The
load bay was neatly packed with equipment. But the back seat
was empty.
‘We could get in,’ Reacher said. ‘You know, fool around a
little.’
‘We could not.’
‘You said it was fun, fooling around at work.’
‘I meant the office.’
‘Is that an invitation?’
She paused. Straightened up. Smiled.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Why not? I might like that.’
Then she smiled wider.
‘OK,’ she said again. ‘Soon as Armstrong is secure, we’ll go
do it on Stuyvesant’s desk. As a celebration.’
She leaned in and grabbed her vest and stretched up and
kissed him on the cheek. Then she ducked away and headed
back. He slammed the tailgate and-she locked it from forty feet
away with the remote.
With thirty minutes to go she put her vest on under her jacket
and ran a radio check. She told the police commander he could
start marshalling the crowd near the entrance. Told the media
they could come into the yard and start the tapes rolling. With
fifteen minutes to go she announced that the Armstrongs were
on their way.
‘Get the food out,’ she called.
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