He breathed easier as he disappeared into the backstreets of one of Arlington’s residential neighborhoods. He slowed enough to turn off his phone and eliminate the hot spot used by his computer. Though the odds were slim his signal was being tracked, why take a chance? The next step would be to ditch the gym bags and then begin banking the cash in amounts less than ten thousand dollars. Multiple accounts until he could consolidate them into a trust fund. The plan would take time, something of which he had precious little.

Three blocks from the parking garage, two men sat in a black SUV. In DC and the surrounding area, the vehicles were as common as politicians. The two men inside watched a computer monitor wedged on the console. A red blip moved through a grid of streets.

“He’s slowing down already,” the driver said.

A voice crackled from the speaker of a cell phone. “I’ve lost his signal.”

“Copy that,” the driver said. “We’ve got the GPS tracer.”

“Do you need me to head him off?”

“No. We’ll retrieve. Good job. Check your wallet in the morning.”

“You know I will. I’ll wipe down the car and leave it where we agreed. Good hunting.”

“Let’s move,” the second man said. “We don’t want him to get out of range.”

“I think he’s going to nest close by,” the driver said. “But better to intercept before he stashes the money somewhere. Let’s go introduce ourselves to our new best friend, whoever he might be.” He eased the SUV away from the curb and headed for the blinking red light.

Jonathan Finch found a parking place on North Highland Street in front of the house. Fortunately, his landlady and her other boarders should be asleep, but if anyone happened to see him, he would say he’d just driven in from Richmond. That was true. They were used to the odd hours of his work. He could explain the bags as heavier clothing now that autumn was right around the corner.

Carrying one of the gym bags, he walked to the rear door, where a back stairway took him closest to his room. He used his key to unlock the bolt and tiptoed up the steps. Still, the old, dry floorboards creaked beneath his feet. He opened the door to his small room. There was a dresser, an armoire, a desk, and a single bed with a nightstand. He knelt and pushed the gym bag as far under the bed as he could.

He returned to the car and opened the rear door. He reached across for the bag that had fallen behind the driver’s seat.

“Back out slowly.” The hoarse whisper was more growl than voice.

Finch froze.

“Do as I say. Leave the bag, and we’ll go get the other one together.”

“It’s a boardinghouse,” Finch said without turning around. “People are stirring.”