Everything ran like clockwork—the dash through the alley, the loading of vehicles. Now seated in backseat next to Taylor and Lucy, Jordan kept her eye on the road while PFC Donner drove and Corporal Price sat shotgun. Master Gunnery Sergeant Walker and one other Marine had gone ahead to scope out the situation and set up defense parameters. One guard had been left behind to cover the apartment.
Under Jordan’s direction, Donner exited the hotel parking lot and headed south on Pinsker. Turning west on Bograshov, he drove straight to Ben Yehuda and turned right.
Jordan kept her attention on the cars around them, on the people on the streets, and on the windows of the buildings they approached and passed. It didn’t take long for her to spot the black Hyundai one lane over. It tailed them as they crossed Gordon and stuck tight when they swung onto Jabotinsky.
Jordan tapped Donner on the shoulder. He nodded. He must have spotted it, too.
“Lucy,” Jordan said, “I need you to bend over as far as you can and keep your head down.” She gestured for Taylor to cover his daughter.
Taylor didn’t panic, and he didn’t argue. He pushed Lucy forward and covered her back.
Jordan pulled her gun from its holster as the car gained on them in the left lane. Glancing over at Taylor and Lucy, she sucked in a breath and waited for the car to pull even.
Donner slowed the sedan and the Hyundai shot even.
Jordan clicked off the safety on her gun.
A little old lady hunched over the wheel of the car while a boxer pup in the passenger seat barked frantically. Jordan puffed out her breath with a laugh. Lowering her gun, she patted the judge on the shoulder. “You can sit up now.”
Taylor sat up as Lucy shifted and wiggled out from under her father’s arm. Jordan felt a slight pang of guilt for scaring her. Still, better safe than sorry.
Two more right turns and Donner pulled up and parked in front of a small strip mall on Arlozoroff. Alena Petrenko’s office was located in the basement. The ranch-style building had a wide, glassed-in entrance. A nail salon opened to the street on the left. On the right, a small convenience store served as a conduit into the mall.
Walker, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots, loitered near the front entrance. Jordan could have spotted his buzz cut a mile away. So much for blending in.
Corporal Price joined Walker on the sidewalk. Taylor reached for the door handle, and Jordan placed her hand on his sleeve. “Hold on a minute. Let me check things out first.”
She eyed the street for signs of trouble. If they were going to be ambushed, this was a logical place.
A black, unmarked car was parked in front of them. The Marine’s ride. Across the street, a blue Nissan with two occupants, a man and a young boy, idled at the curb.
“The man’s wife is in the salon,” said Walker through the mic in Jordan’s ear. “She’s almost done.”
A skinny kid smoking a cigarette scurried down the opposite sidewalk. There were no cars moving on the street and only a few parked in the next block—a silver Passat and a black Mazda.
“Any movement from the cars?”
“All’s quiet. Harper’s got a bead.”
Gunnery Sergeant Harper was the detail’s best marksman—markswoman. It made Jordan feel better knowing she was somewhere surveying the scene.
The sedan grew hot and stuffy and still Jordan waited. Her gaze traveled over the houses across the street, shifting from second-floor window to second-floor window. From the farthest one on the right, a glint of sunlight on metal caused her to plant her gaze.
“Harper?” she said.
Donner nodded.
“Okay, everyone wait here.” Climbing out of the car, she signaled to Price. “You, come with me.”
Jordan posted him outside the convenience store entrance and stepped through the doorway. Inside, it was crowded enough to stir feelings of claustrophobia. Shelves lined the walls, stocked floor to ceiling with everything from cigarettes to baklava. A feenjan pot bubbled on a hot plate on the counter diffusing the smell of Turkish coffee into the air.
A thin, dark-skinned man nodded at her from behind the counter and then turned his attention back to the pot. He pulled the feenjan free of the heat, barely in time to prevent it from boiling over, and poured the bitter liquid into two cups.
Jordan slipped down the aisle between the narrow shelves and the counter. Outside the door to the lobby, two men chattered loudly about how much time it was taking the shopkeeper to bring them their coffee and sweet cake. Reaching the mall entrance, she could see them seated at a small, glass-topped table in the lobby. They stopped speaking abruptly when she came through the door.
“He’s pouring the coffee,” she said in Hebrew. “It won’t be long now.”
They glanced at each other and then nodded, resuming their chatter.
Jordan quickly scanned the lobby. Except for the two men, it was empty. A cluster of three tables fashioned the small eating area, and what appeared to be offices ringed an open staircase. Aside from the store, only the beauty salon showed any activity. To the left, a corridor ran to the back of the building.
Jordan stepped back into the convenience store and signaled the corporal to enter. She waited for him to draw alongside and then spoke softly in English.
“Dr. Petrenko’s office is downstairs. It looks like there’s an exit at the end of that hallway.” She pointed down the corridor that took a sharp left at the end of the hall. “Check it out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The corporal took off down the corridor. A few minutes later, he climbed back up the stairs. “There’s one door to the outside at the end of the hall. It’s locked. The stairs to the roof are chained shut. I walked the stairs to the basement. Everything’s secure. Most of the offices downstairs are empty.”
A sense of fear fueled by adrenalin came and went. She hoped they hadn’t missed something.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s bring them in.” Moving to the entrance, she pushed open the glass doors and spoke into her mic. “We’re a go.”