Approaching Rome Street, Newark, New Jersey
Dawson spun his finger in the air and Niner checked his mirrors, quickly pulling a U-turn, breaking away from the other vehicles still heading for the rendezvous point, the directive of no lights and sirens once they reached Jersey killing their progress.
They were no longer bound by those orders.
Niner blasted through the traffic with lights and sirens activated, toward the new target now showing on the display attached to the dash.
“What can you tell me, Control?”
“Dark brown Dodge Caravan, five hostiles inside, two in the front, three in the back. Intel suggests they are most likely armed.”
“Secondary devices?”
“None indicated but be prepared for suicide vests or other IEDs.”
Dawson began checking his gear as did the others in the rear, Spock reaching forward and making sure Niner was squared away as the skilled operator continued to guide them through traffic.
Dawson asked the all-important question.
“Do we want them dead or alive?”
“Alive would be preferred, at least for our target.”
“Which one is he?”
“Hang on!” warned Niner, Dawson grabbing for the Oh Jesus Handle as they took a hard right.
“He’s seated directly behind the passenger seat.”
Dawson pursed his lips, checking his Glock then holstering it. “This goes a lot smoother if we eliminate the other four, Control.”
“Standby, Zero-One.”
Spock poked his head between the seats. “Guess that one was a bit above his paygrade.”
Dawson nodded. “Recognize the voice?”
“Yup. But what’s the CIA doing controlling an op on American soil? What happened to the FBI?”
Dawson shook his head. “I have a feeling someone wasn’t happy with what just happened.”
“The President?”
Dawson shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Zero-One, Control. Use of deadly force is authorized. What’s your ETA?”
Dawson glanced at the display.
“Two minutes.”