Page 67 of Under the Radar
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The Orioles game let out, and Lombard Street swarmed with cars. Mac clenched and unclenched his fists and cursed. There were red lights as far as he could see. Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait. He called Liz.
“Did the coordinates change yet?” He glanced to his right. A man and woman were arguing about a fender-bender between their two cars.
“Yes. Three minutes ago. I’ve got eyes on the locations we haven’t explored yet. Let me call you back. Nick’s on hold at one of the coordinates.” She hung up.
The traffic crawled like a lethargic slug. Tempting as it was to get out and run the few miles to the west end, he stayed in the town car to conserve energy for when they found Mo. And they would find her.
His phone rang. “Yeah, Liz?”
“Nick and Ethan have crossed two places off the list. Beck and Zeke are heading for a third. They said the traffic is awful.”
“Understatement of the year. Are any of the new coordinates identical to the last group?”
“No, but it could be a bootleg copy and not as sensitive as the original. I have three locations that are similar in proximity. They’re less than a block away from each other. Here are the coordinates.”
Mac entered the numbers into his phone as his driver nudged through an opening in the right lane and sped like an off-roader with one wheel on the sidewalk. Thank goodness they were moving. “Got it. How close are the search groups to each other?”
“Once you get there, you’re within an eighth of a mile of the others.”
“Shouldn’t that indicate we’re closing in on the right building?” Yeah, he sounded impatient, but his adrenaline spiked like a fever.
Liz didn’t answer right away. C’mon, c’mon. Longest few seconds of his life.
“Wait, Mac. Zeke texted. The coordinates they just did belonged to a taxi driver playing games on his phone, and Nick’s were a lottery machine in a liquor store. That leaves only three dots remaining.”
“Where, Liz, where?” Mac shouted.
“Go to the coordinates I just gave you. On my map, all three dots intersect. It could be one large building. I’ll tell the others to meet you there.”
Mac entered the numbers into his phone and waited for an address to pop-up. His driver got them there in seven minutes and slinked into a space behind a blue van. The other groups arrived from different directions, and the Hummer with Ethan and Nick double-parked in front of the building as planned.
This house was deep and wider than the others on the street. It could’ve been a duplex at some point, but now, it offered only one peeling, dirty-beige front door. A couple of rain spouts lay haphazardly against the side of the building, and the wraparound front porch displayed an assortment of old couches and chairs way past their prime.
Mac instructed his driver to make a U-turn and go back to the penthouse after Mac exited the car. He’d hired him as a business driver, not a bodyguard. There was no point in placing him in danger once things got dicey. Mac double-checked his weapons, opened the car door, and, perusing the street for bystanders, stepped out. Beck walked up the front steps to the house with a basket of flowers, wearing an FTD cap. Mooney and Zeke strolled around to the back of the house to watch for unfriendlys and guard the back door and possible basement exits.
The other five men, including Derek, Ethan and Nick, assumed positions on the porch that enabled them to run inside the front door the second it opened and assume control of the building. Mac flattened himself against the chipped wood siding on the porch next to Beck.
Beck slipped a smile on his face and pressed the ringer.