Vasques had taken Marcus’s advice and called in the cavalry, but she hadn’t wanted to involve the Bureau. Luckily, her partner Troy LaPaglia had friends in the Cook County Sheriff’s office and was able to get their tactical unit out to help make the arrests. For obvious reasons, she hadn’t wanted to involve the local police department.
Now she sat inside the same surveillance van that she had four days earlier when she had busted the human-trafficking ring in Elk Grove Village. The block vinyl letters reading MASCONI PLUMBING AND HEATING still clung to its exterior. It was still cramped and uncomfortable, and it still smelled of stale coffee and greasy takeout food. She was certain that Belacourt hadn’t seen it; even if he had, the detective didn’t have Marcus’s memory.
Troy had set up a small electric heater that hummed on the desk beside him near the surveillance monitors. For some reason, he was always cold. Vasques was sweating and ready to throw the little heater out the window.
The parking lot of the Jackson’s Grove mall was packed. Christmas was only a few days away and everyone was scrambling to cross the final names from their lists. The sight of all the cars and people heading toward the mall to purchase gifts for loved ones evoked both sadness and anger in Vasques. She would not be giving any gifts or receiving any that Christmas. Her brother’s gift had been the little dog, and she hadn’t bought him anything. Childhood memories of Christmas morning with her father only fueled her anger at Belacourt.
She reached up inside her Level III-A body armor and scratched at her chest. It would stop a .44 magnum round traveling at fourteen hundred feet per second, but it was also bulky and added to her discomfort in the stuffy interior of the van. She popped in a third piece of Juicy Fruit gum. At her side, Troy said, “I just bought a new pack of Marlboros if you want one.”
“Thanks, Satan, but I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like one of those junkies on that TV show where the person’s family confronts them about their addiction.”
Vasques shook her head, but she did it with a smile. “Shut up and watch the monitors.”
They had a spotter posted on each of the entrances to the mall and five officers waiting in unmarked SUVs ready to converge on Belacourt and Jansen once they both arrived. Belacourt had probably chosen the mall as a meeting place because he wanted to blend in with the crowds, but it also made it easier for their team to intermingle. She had called Stan, and he would notify them as soon as Belacourt’s signal approached the shopping center. Belacourt had told Jansen on the phone that he’d be driving a green Honda Civic and would park along the back edge of the parking lot’s far corner.
In her mind, Vasques ran through everything one more time. The team would converge with overwhelming force, blitzkrieg-style. With luck, that would ensure that they’d meet no resistance. The very back corner of the lot had only a sporadic dotting of cars, so they should be a safe distance from any civilians. And she had parked the van close enough to where she could rush up to Belacourt’s car with the tactical team and be the one to make the arrest.
They were ready. Now all they had to do was wait.