28

28

BALLARD SAT IN the second row of folding chairs, behind Gordon Olmstead and another agent, Spencer, who was wearing an Amazon delivery uniform as cover because he was the driver of the command-post van. The van was parked on Ocean Boulevard, a block away from the parking lot displayed on the four screens attached to the inside wall.

Olmstead sat in front of a stick microphone and was in constant contact with all agents involved in the operation. Speakers mounted below the screens allowed Ballard to hear the play-by-play on the comms. The only one of the team not transmitting was Bosch. He had previously declined to wear an earpiece. His car was wired for sound but he didn't want to speak; if he was being watched by a Dehaven confederate, it might tip him off.

At 7:25 the agents watching the caravan on the PCH where Dehaven parked his van overnight reported that Dehaven and another man were in the van and pulling into traffic. They were on their way.

Olmstead shook his head and keyed his mic. "They're already breaking the rules," he said. "Subject was to arrive solo. Everybody stay sharp. We are off script."

Tension in the van ratcheted up a notch. Ballard watched the screens and saw Bosch open the door of his Cherokee.

"He's getting out," Ballard said. "Why's he getting out?"

"It's part of the plan, Renée," Olmstead said. "Cool your jets."

Ballard was annoyed by his tone and by the fact that she had been left out of the planning, but she knew this wasn't the time to go to war over it. She watched as Bosch went to the back of the Cherokee and lifted the rear hatch. He was wearing an old army camo jacket that looked bulky.

"Is he wearing plates?" she asked.

"No," Spencer said. "He refused a vest, plates, anything that would look like he might be law enforcement."

Bosch sat on the back bumper and folded his arms across his chest. Next to him in the rear cargo space of the Cherokee were two beach bags with straps. They looked like they were filled with striped beach towels, but Olmstead explained that the towels concealed the mini machine guns, two in each bag, with ineffective firing pins.

"We wanted two bags so Dehaven would have to carry them with two hands," he said.

Ballard nodded, knowing that the two-handed carry would hinder an effort to draw a weapon.

Minute-by-minute updates on Dehaven's progress on the coast highway were radioed to the command post.

"He's going to be early, people," Olmstead said. "Be ready."

"Is there any way to get that message to Bosch?" Ballard asked.

"Not unless we break position," Olmstead said. "We don't want to do that and Bosch knows to be ready for anything. Early arrival, late arrival—doesn't matter."

Ballard nodded. She knew that Bosch was ready. She had checked with him earlier that morning and given him every opportunity to back out of the operation, but he refused. He told her that the situation went beyond recovering her badge. He wanted to be part of the team that took Dehaven down.

At 7:46 the follow team reported that Dehaven's van was on the California Incline and three to five minutes from the beach parking lot. The tension in Ballard's chest tightened and she pushed her chair back and stood. It was the only way to deal with the adrenaline hit. She started shifting her weight from one foot to another, her eyes intent on the screens.

"Renée, you're jumpy," Olmstead said. "You need to relax. Everything is in hand."

"I can't relax," Ballard said. "Not till this thing is over and he's safe. I pulled him into this."

She studied the screens that showed four images of Bosch from four different camera angles. He was still sitting, arms crossed, on the back bumper. He certainly seemed calm even if she wasn't.

"I need to be down there with him," she said.

"Too dangerous," Olmstead said. "You can't even get out of the van at this point. We don't know what other eyes are out there."

"I know, I know. Are all of these frames fixed? They're too tight. You can't see what's happening in the lot."

"Hold on."

Olmstead made a radio call to one of the lot surveillance teams and told them to widen their camera's angle. It was the camera on the southwest corner of the lot that offered a view over the right side of the Cherokee and Bosch's left shoulder. The angle widened and Ballard could see the entire lot, including the roller-hockey game being played on the north end.

"That better for you?" Olmstead asked.

"Better," Ballard said. "But you let them play hockey with this going down?"

"They play every Saturday morning. We don't know if Dehaven knows that. We cancel it and it could be a tell. It could blow the whole operation. Nothing is going to happen here. We're going to follow them back to the nest, remember?"

"I remember. It's just that plans don't always go as intended."

Almost as soon as she said it, she saw the van she recognized as Dehaven's drive down the ramp off Ocean and into the parking lot. Because it was so early and the lot was largely empty, the van cut across the painted lines of the parking rows, heading directly toward Bosch.

Ballard watched Harry push off the bumper and stand up to meet it.

"Here we go," Olmstead said.