“I have two police cruisers coming up Fait Avenue from the west,” said Hoffman. “Not sure if they saw me.”

“I haven’t picked up any pursuit calls,” said Graves. “All town house units. Take the first left off Glover. We need to get you out of sight.”

Up ahead, Melendez and Miralles turned off the road, their taillights racing left and vanishing. He hoped to get to that turn before the police cars reached the intersection behind him. Red and blue lights flashed in his mirrors, momentarily disappearing—then reappearing. They looked a lot farther away than he’d expected. Mirror tricks? Another glance in his rearview mirror left him believing they’d turned onto Glover Street beyond the Russian SUVs. He ripped off his ski mask and tossed it on the passenger seat.

“I think I have police units approaching the town house from Foster Avenue. Nothing off Fait Avenue yet,” said Hoffman. “Almost at the turn.”

“Confirming the units turning off Foster,” said Graves. “Fait is still clear.”

He glanced in the side mirror, confirming that the police units approaching from the west on Fait Avenue had not reached a point where they could see him. He had a few more seconds at most before they raced into sight. No time for stop signs. His four-door sedan skidded into the intersection ahead of him, tires screeching the entire time—as he cut directly in front of a minivan. The woman honked her horn, and kept it blaring as he drove away.

“I’m clear,” said Hoffman. “But I nearly hit a minivan when I was turning off Glover. Fifty-fifty she calls nine-one-one, especially given all the police activity she’s about to encounter. That and the fact that I’m still wearing a ski mask.”

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Melendez.

The masks were meant to prevent one of the neighbors from getting lucky with their smartphone camera. Same with the opaque license plate covers, which they’d have to remove sooner than later.

“Yeah. But I’m not kidding about the minivan. I think she’s still laying on the horn,” said Hoffman.

“This is Rich. Even if she calls nine-one-one, we’ll be long gone before they piece any of this together. Good job, everyone. Let’s run Hoffman, Miralles, and Melendez directly to Gray’s apartment. The police will get makes and models from the neighbors, or the minivan lady. We don’t need you reentering the city later tonight after a long SDR. The chances of getting pulled over are too high. The rest of us will—”

“Rich. This is Graves. Are we sure that was the only Russian team working the town house? A shitload of push-to-talk satellite traffic just lit up my screen. We’re trying to pinpoint, but all I can give you is a general direction at the moment.”

“Where?” asked Farrington.