He felt a rare twinge of impatience. If the cab driver left before they did, he would have to vacate the taxi and immediately go to his fallback. He couldn’t just sit here until the driver returned to find him inside. But he knew it would be quicker, cleaner and easier to get things done right now. This was a golden opportunity, one with a high probability of success. He was intent on taking advantage of it.

Grigor waited, double-parked at the cab stand about thirty feet down from the restaurant.

It was now five past one. The restaurant’s door opened and closed. People went in and out.

But not Musil.

Grigor sat looking out the windshield, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift. He wanted to be ready when the moment arrived.

He waited. Another minute passed. Another.

More people came and left.

He waited.

Then the door opened again, and he straightened in his seat. They had finally appeared. The analyst first, Musil following him out a split second later.

Grigor’s attention tunneled in on them as they turned right and uptown. They had a three-block walk to their headquarters. There were three corners where they might cross to the west side of the avenue. It didn’t matter which corner they chose. One was the same as the next to him. He would cruise slowly along behind them, staying in the empty bus lane nearest the curb, waiting until they stepped into the pedestrian crossing.

And then he would take them out. Both of them. He couldn’t pick and choose even if he wanted. When the weapon was a five-thousand-pound moving vehicle, it was not going to be a surgical strike. But that was fine with him. The men worked for the same organization. They had also worked together in the FBI. In his experience, they were likely to be sharing information on the CloudCable probe. It was best not to leave one alive.

Grigor touched a steering wheel control and engaged the passenger van’s Sport mode. That would relax the throttle and improve its handling during acceleration.

His wait was over.

Shifting into Drive, he pulled smoothly away from taxi stand and into the northbound bus lane.

They had walked a block and a half uptown on the east side of Tenth when Ki Marton noticed the traffic light changing up ahead at the corner of Fifty-Fourth Street.

He was on the outer part of the sidewalk, Musil to his right on the inside.

He slapped Musil’s shoulder and motioned toward the corner.

“Let’s catch the light!” he said and quickened his pace.

Musil hurried up alongside him.

Abdul noticed his taxi van was gone the instant he left the restaurant.