The Blue Zone

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Luis Prado pulled his black Escalade to a stop halfway down the street from the blue-shingled house in tree-lined Orchard Park, New York, outside of Buffalo. He cut the lights.

It was quiet here, Luis reflected. Kids, familias… basketball hoops over the garages. Not bent, rusted ones on dirt fields like where he grew up. Nothing bad would ever happen here. Right?

He reached for his binoculars and through the night-vision lenses spotted two slumping shapes in the unmarked Ford parked directly across from the blue-shingled house.

The one behind the wheel looked half asleep. The other was smoking a cigarette, probably contemplating just how unlucky he’d been to have drawn this assignment. Luis scanned the block. No vans or delivery vehicles, the usual stakeout bases where more agents might hide. Other than the federales in the Taurus, he didn’t see anyone else around.

A laundry truck turned onto the street. It pulled to a stop in front of a neighboring house. A deliveryman hopped out and dropped a bundle on the front stoop. He rang the bell.

Luis Prado understood that the next time he came back here, it would be messy. Just like with that pretty federal agent back in Chicago. That one had been cruel. She’d been very well trained, and it had taken all his acquired skills and stomach. But in the end it had been helpful. In the end they’d gotten the things they needed to know. It had brought him here.

Luis’s attention was grabbed by the garage door opening. A woman stepped out-middle-aged, pleasant-looking, gray hair tied in a bun. She had a dog on the leash, a white Lab. He seemed to be chipper, nice. She placed a trash bag in one of the garbage bins, let the dog do his thing. One of the agents in the Ford got out and walked a short distance up the driveway. The two chatted for a moment, the woman staying in the safety of the garage. Luis looked closely. He didn’t see anyone else inside.

The laundry truck lumbered down the street, passing him.

The two in the Taurus wouldn’t prove to be much of a problem. He’d dealt with this before.

Fraternidad esto destino. Luis sighed. It was fated. The choice had already been made. He would wait, watch, until he saw his target. He covered the Sig nine-millimeter on the seat across him with a newspaper.

Next time he’d be doing his thing.