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When Kendra stepped out of the washroom, she saw a police helicopter hovering above the skyline.
Her muscles tensed up, but she reminded herself that the authorities weren’t going to lock down the entire city centre.
At least not yet.
Their standard-operating procedure called for a policy of containment. They would focus on extinguishing the blaze, triaging the wounded and moving civilians out of the red zone. They wouldn’t be looking to detain anyone at this point, or canvass the wider area.
Which means that I still have some time.
Kendra made her way to a multi-storey parking garage two blocks down. She had worked out the distance, measured the odds, and she had decided that this was the best possible candidate.
It offered the quickest access to three motorways – the North, North-Western and Southern – and it was also tactically close to Farmers, presumably the focal point of the op.
Kendra approached the parking garage from the rear. There were five levels. She hazarded a guess and used the stairs to reach the basement level.
Vehicles of every make and model flanked her.
Eyes darting, she began the process of elimination.
She ruled out bright colours like yellow and red. They were too flashy; too conspicuous. And she also excluded midrange colours like white and metallic. Still memorable. Which only left hushed tones like grey or black. They were surveillance friendly; able to blend in without attracting attention.
Next, Kendra crossed off any vehicle that was too big or too small. Which meant no SUVs. No vans. No hatchbacks. No sports cars. And that only left the sedans, which offered the perfect mix of mass, acceleration and a low centre of gravity.
Finally, Kendra rejected the sedans that were parked front-first into the bays. She only zeroed in on those that were reverse-parked. This was common sense. Mr Cronin and his team would have wanted a no-fuss exit. Just get into the car, start the engine and pull away. No clumsy manoeuvres.
With all the options whittled down to a minimum, Kendra approached a grey Toyota Camry and aimed the car-key fob at it, depressing the button.
No joy.
She moved on and tried a black Holden Commodore.
This time, the car chirped and flashed and unlocked.
Bingo.
Kendra looked past the windscreen at the prepaid parking ticket displayed on the dashboard. She saw that it was due to expire in an hour, and she found that very revealing.
Thomas Cronin and his buddies didn’t plan on sticking around for very long. This was meant to be a milk run. Touch and go. No fuss. Only... it didn’t work out that way.
Smirking, Kendra was tempted to get into the car right now.
But, no, she had to be smart about this. Meticulous.
Stooping to a crouch, she duck-walked around the Holden. She fingered the underside of the bumpers, probed behind the tyres and peered at the undercarriage.
Kendra did this inch by inch.
She orbited the car twice.
And so far, so good.
But she wasn’t done.
Not yet.
Kendra flicked out her knife and – slowly, very slowly – she opened one of the doors just a fraction. She slid her blade all along the gap between the door and the car’s frame, back and forth, top to bottom. She only opened the door completely once she had confirmed that there was no tripwire present.
Kendra repeated the process for the remaining doors.
She cleared them the exact same way.
Next, she moved on to examining the car’s interior. She only reached in with her upper body, careful not to lean against the seats until she had examined every crevice, every groove and every corner with light from her phone. Just to be sure that no pressure switches had been installed.
That done, Kendra moved to the back of the Holden. She used the car key to unlock the trunk, but kept her palm firmly on the lid to prevent it from springing up. She raised it carefully, using her knife to clear the gap before opening it completely.
The interior looked empty, but when she rolled back the mat and shifted the spare tyre, that’s when things got interesting – there was a backpack hidden underneath.
Kendra tugged it out and checked the pockets. Spare ammunition. Surveillance gear. Night-vision goggles. A laser-aiming module. And an infiltration kit.
An operator’s idea of Christmas.
When she unzipped the top of the backpack, she saw that the fabric extended over the wearer’s head and folded over the chest and stomach, becoming a ballistic vest. Wraparound design, good protection, easy access to the pockets.
Christmas and New Year’s.
Refolding and zipping up the bag, Kendra slung it across her shoulder and closed the trunk.
She moved to the front of the Holden. Popping open the hood, she inspected the engine. She aimed her light this way and that. She detected nothing suspicious, and she shut the hood.
Sighing, Kendra finally allowed herself to sit down on the driver’s side. She pulled open the glove compartment. She confirmed that it wasn’t wired, and she found a GPS navigation unit inside. Turning it on, she tapped the screen and launched the list of recent destinations.
Kendra swallowed, recognising the one at the very top.
It was an address in Remuera.
Ryan’s parents.