CHAPTER 22

Normally, “moving surveillance” like this is done in teams of at least five. The “point” detective sits on the suspect’s home, then alerts his colleagues, all parked nearby and already facing different directions on the bad guy’s route. The appropriate car starts to follow, while the others fall behind, providing extra cover and driving along parallel streets, all to keep the surveillance as secret as possible. For real high-value targets, the NOPD can sometimes call in air assets from the state police, like a helicopter, or even a drone.

Pursuing a suspected terrorist with just one car and driver would be insane. It would never be done.

But that’s what I’m doing tonight.

I wait a few seconds until Farzat cruises down the block. Then I pull onto the road behind him, keeping as much distance between us as I can, just like I was trained.

He first turns onto Downman Road, a main artery through this quiet neighborhood, heading north. That’s a strange move, since there’s not much that way except Lakefront Airport, a regional public airfield with mostly short-range private charter flights and notoriously lax security. Not much more than a couple rent-a-cops and some ancient chain-link fencing.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter and keep following. Thankfully, Farzat makes a turn a few blocks before the airport—then, even more strangely, pulls up to the drive-thru window of a twenty-four-hour McDonald’s.

I idle on the curb a half-block away and watch through a small pair of binoculars as he pays cash for three greasy bags of food and six cups of coffee in two cardboard holders. It’s possible Farzat is just going to a nightshift job and is picking up a meal for his buddies—not feeding a group of fundamentalists. I pray that’s the case. We’ll see.

Back on the road, Farzat heads south on Mayo Boulevard. He passes the I-10—then suddenly makes a squealing U-turn and starts speeding back the way he came.

Damnit, did he spot me?

No way I can pull that same move without blowing my cover. So instead, I cut onto the closest side street and quickly turn around. I’m about to turn back onto Mayo again when Farzat’s car zooms past—going south again.

Huh?

Whatever. I pull out and keep following.

I continue tailing Farzat for a few more minutes onto Almonaster Avenue. Running parallel to a wide shipping channel, this two-lane road is badly potholed and eerily desolate. I pass some abandoned industrial sites on my left that are obscured by overgrown thickets of shrubs and trees. On my right is nothing but acres and acres of dark, eerie swamp.