“Certainly. For this type of strike, the high-value targets are population-
rich, symbolic venues. So, in no particular order: Times Square, the Empire State
Building, Grand Central, Penn Station, Union Square, SoHo… and, of course the
ballparks. And, since we’re talking about Saturday or Sunday, I’d add Central
Park. Weather’s supposed to be good, it’s going to be packed.”
“Thank you,” said Bell. She got up and went to the LED board at the head of the
table and stood beside the list of targets, which had been bulleted on the screen as
Commander McMains spoke.
“Detective Heat, you have a special connection to this case, we all know that. And
this includes some persons of interest you developed from subjects your mother had
under surveillance years ago.” An odd sensation passed through Nikki. The
acknowledgment of her efforts felt supportive, yet laced with a mild wariness that
the recognition came from Yardley Bell. “Maybe instead of sitting here dead in the
water, listening to the clock tick, we could examine some leads you developed. Tell
us about a Jamaican immigrant by the name of Algernon Barrett.”
“Barrett was on my short list of murder suspects before I determined who my mother
’s real killer was. However, I’ve revisited him in the past few days and he doesn
’t add up for me as part of this terror plot.”
“Interesting.” Agent Bell strolled back to her place at the table, walking the
room like a TV lawyer making a summary to the jury. She put a hand on Rook’s
forearm and said, “ ’Scuse me, would you?” and she tugged a gray file from under
his elbow. “He’s in the food business, right?”
“Jamaican jerk chicken. He retails spices and has some food trucks.”
“Right, Do the Jerk, I’ve seen them. But our foreigner is making some changes to
his business model all of a sudden.” Bell opened the gray file and cited notes as
she prowled back to the head of the room. “He told you about his—what are they
called now?—‘pop-up’ stores?” Nikki’s mild wariness had gone full-bore, and it
must have shown. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been tapping you. Rook told me.”
Heat turned to him. His expression resembled that of a dog who’d just dookied the
new rug.
“You zeroing in on something, here, Agent Bell?” asked Callan, growing impatient.
“I am. For those who don’t know what they are—they probably don’t have a lot of
pop-up stores in Atlanta…”
“Mom-and-pop’s about it,” said Dr. Rose.
“… Pop-up stores are short-term retail or food spots that ‘pop up’ overnight, in
vacant store fronts, do business with groovy, social media–connected millennials
for about a week, and then move on. Very hip, very happening, and maybe, very
deadly.
“Here’s the list of where Algernon Barrett’s jerk chicken stores are popping up
this weekend.” She positioned herself to stand beside the bulleted list of Targets
of Opportunity on the LED, and recited from the file, “Times Square. Across from
the Empire State Building. Grand Central’s Eastern Passage. Penn Station. Next to
Barnes & Noble in Union Square.” She scanned the target list with her forefinger.
“Huh. Seems we covered most of them, except for SoHo and the parks.”
Heat said it felt like conjecture, but her words couldn’t fight the hard silence
that filled the Situation Room as Yardley Bell returned to her seat. At last, Agent
Callan scanned the faces of his task force and said, “Sounds to me like we should
pop up at Algernon Barrett’s.”
From there things happened quickly. The search warrant. The plan. The unchaining of
the hounds. Homeland drilled for moments like this, and in Domino’s delivery time,
Heat found herself riding shotgun in Special Agent Callan’s black SUV in a siren-
and-lights convoy smoking uptown. He heard something he liked in his silicone
earpiece and said to Nikki, “Bell says her advance team is in place and confirm
Barrett at the location.” She didn’t reply, just sat chewing on her misgivings
about this operation and how it had steamrolled so rapidly from a speculative
mention in the Situation Room.