I sat in my seat and applauded with the others, but I had a funny feeling too. I hadn’t been involved or even known about Farley or the surveillance on him. I was out of the loop, and I hadn’t felt like this for over a dozen years, not since I started with the police department in D.C.

Chapter 37

Chapter 37

A PHRASE FROM THE BRIEFING kept playing in my head: the director concurs . . . I wondered how long Director Burns had known about the suspect in Jersey, and why he had decided not to tell me. I tried not to be disappointed or paranoid, but still . . . I wasn’t feeling good as the meeting broke up to huzzahs from the group of agents.

The trouble was, something felt wrong to me and I had no idea what it was. I just didn’t like something about this bust.

I was leaving the room with the others when Mahoney came ambling up to me. “The director asked that you go to New Jersey,” he said, then grinned. “Come with me to the helipad. I want you there too,” he added. “If we don’t break Farley down immediately, I don’t think we’ll get Mrs. Meek back alive.”

A little less than fifty-five minutes later, a Bell helicopter set down at Big Sky Aviation in Millville, New Jersey. Two black SUVs were waiting, and Mahoney and I were rushed to North Vineland, about ten miles to the north.

We parked in the lot of an IHOP restaurant. Farley’s house was 1.2 miles away. “We’re ready to roll on him,” Mahoney told his group. “I have a pretty good feeling about this one.”

I accompanied Mahoney in one of the SUVs. We wouldn’t be part of the six-man HRT team that would go into the house first, but we’d have immediate access to Rafe Farley. Hopefully we’d find Audrey Meek alive in the house.

In spite of my misgivings, I was starting to get pumped about the takedown. Mahoney’s enthusiasm was contagious, and any kind of action beat sitting around. At least we were doing something. Maybe we’d get Audrey Meek back.

Just then, we passed by an unpainted bungalow. I saw broken porch boards, and a rusty car and a camping stove in the small front yard. “That’s it,” said Mahoney. “Home, sweet home. Let’s pull over up there.”

We stopped about a hundred yards up the road, near a stand of red oaks and pines. I knew that a couple of surveillance agents in ghillie camouflage suits were already nestled in close to the bungalow. These agents did nothing but surveillance and wouldn’t be involved in the actual bust. There was also a closed-circuit camera aimed at the bungalow and the UNSUB’s car, a red Dodge Polaris.