Slaton had set up watch from a tree-lined path outside the stadium that had a good view of the police station’s main entrance. He’d circled the headquarters building once and determined the only other non-emergency exit was a side door connecting to the parking garage. From where he sat he had a good view of the garage access gate, meaning the only way he could miss Anna was if she left inside a vehicle. He decided that wasn’t likely, and anyway, something he couldn’t control.
The drizzle had stopped but was forecast to return. That could add restrictions to visibility, bring out more umbrellas and jackets, people scurrying on the sidewalks. Slaton never stopped weighing contingencies.
He shifted his vantage point at regular intervals, and was presently set up on a stone bench near a stand of trees, pretending to text on his phone. Smartphones had become a virtual subcategory of tradecraft. They offered cameras for still images and videos, communication with team members, moving maps. Best of all, it was perfectly natural to loiter anywhere as if lost to the surrounding world. With one eye on the distant police station, Slaton kept his head in the familiar downward tilt, the hood of his jacket pulled over the baseball cap. People passed on the sidewalk with barely a glance. Hopeful squirrels skittered to his feet, only to leave disappointed.
The sun was setting behind broken clouds. He had looked up events for the stadium and discovered that a game was indeed scheduled tonight: the club’s youth team was in action at eight o’clock. He assumed it would bring a sparse crowd, and at seven thirty sharp the big lights behind him snapped on to take over for the sun. A trickle of spectators began arriving on the sidewalks.
His vigil on the double doors across the street never wavered.
At 7:51 Slaton saw Anna emerge. He was an expert when it came to identifying people—he’d gone through exhaustive training and his eyesight was exceptionally sharp. He didn’t need any of that. Anna Altman stood out naturally.
She looked at ease, her long-limbed stride relaxed, a few strands of blond hair catching the breeze. He watched her pause momentarily at the curb to get her bearings, then strike out south. She was headed toward him, just as he’d predicted. Virtually all forms of transportation—bus stops, a train station, and open curbs for ride sharing—were in that direction.
Slaton began moving. He took up a reciprocal course on the opposing sidewalk, cutting the gap with every step. His intention was to get within a hundred feet, then pause to stand out. Let her see him. He wanted nothing more than eye contact, to give her the assurance that he was nearby. Watching over her.
Walking away from police headquarters, Anna thought the air felt like freedom itself. The wind was gentle and she saw a light mist gathering in the distance. The people around her looked busy, purposeful, and for the most part, happy. The idea of ten days in Luxembourg, on the verge of spring, didn’t seem particularly onerous. There would be little to do—the odd phone call, perhaps an interview or two while diplomacy ran its course. She would ask Mossad to put her up at a decent hotel. Not Le Cristal—certainly not—but something along those lines. She’d earned that much.
She set out with no immediate destination in mind. The police had returned her purse, minus the Beretta and her forged documents. But she had a bit of cash and her phone was inside—it had gone dead, probably thanks to the police going over it. They wouldn’t have found much. It was a Mossad-issued device, and the agency, once they realized she was in custody, would have remotely wiped clean all but some basic information. Anna decided the best thing now would be to find a coffee shop or a restaurant, somewhere where she could charge her phone and make a call to headquarters. Maybe a nice cup of half-caf.
She was nearly to the first intersection when a silhouette on the far curb caught her eye. On the tall side, baseball cap, sunglasses at dusk. Instantly familiar. He was looking at her directly, but otherwise expressionless.
Anna smiled.
David didn’t. To do so would mean breaking cover.
Immediately she understood. She might be off the hook with the authorities, but he was still at large, an unknown entity. He would have to keep his distance. All the same, he was telling her he was here. The comfort was undeniable. As soon as she had her phone up and running, she would find a way to contact him.
Anna had paused on recognizing Slaton. Now, understanding what he was telling her, she half-turned and set back out. She was nearly to the first crosswalk when the bullet struck her in the chest. It was the same caliber round that had killed Inspector Bausch hours earlier. Delivered from the same rifle. Sent by the same killer. Right then, Anna didn’t know any of that.
There was, however, one monumental difference in the outcome: when she hit the pavement, Anna was still alive.