12

            Cutty had been watching the Judas conversing discreetly with a tall, well-built black man when the Judas abruptly turned away and walked out.  He shuffled past where Cutty sat, but he did not look at him.  He didn’t need to—what had happened was obvious.

            Cutty had been made. 

            It happened sometimes.  The Judas had once been a leader in their division, after all, and had been trained to recognize a tail. 

            It didn’t particularly bother Cutty.  The thick fumes of junk food had begun to nauseate him, and he was ready to get out of there, drive far away, and grab a hot shower to cleanse the stink from his pores.

            The Judas navigated through the crowd and went toward the restrooms.  Cutty had briefly reconnoitered the restrooms earlier, and found there was no exit that way.  He would return to the Judas after he finished appraising the black man.

            The man was looking around the room.  For an instant, he and Cutty made eye contact.

            Cutty felt a tremor in his stomach.  Although he’d never before seen this man, intuition told him that there was something about this guy, something unusual and intriguing, and worth a closer look.

            He watched the guy stack two plastic trays and take them to a trash can near the north exit.  The guy dumped the contents of the trays and left through the doors.  He didn’t look back.

            Cutty spoke into the radio transmitter affixed to his shirt collar. 

            “Valdez, there’s a person of interest coming down the north stairwell.  Black man, about six feet tall, in his early thirties, in a dark windbreaker, jeans, and a baseball cap.  Don’t stop him, but see what he’s driving and get his plates.” 

            He waited for Valdez’s response, hoping that she understood his directions.  After a few seconds, her voice crackled in his earpiece.

            “Okay.”

            He would have to assume that she had comprehended his orders.  He didn’t have time to baby-sit her.

            He dumped his bottled water in a wastebasket and left the dining area for the lobby, using his broad shoulders like a wedge to force through the knotted crowd.  A couple of times he had to give guys taller than him a hard shove.  They turned and looked down at him as if to say something rude, but when they saw the expression on his face they shut their mouths like meek little lambs.

            You didn’t have to be tall to be intimidating.  It was all about presence.       

            He shoved open the door to the men’s room.        There were six urinals, but none were in use.  Four toilet stalls stood along the wall.  The doors to all of them hung open, except the one at the end.

            He knelt to the linoleum floor, checking for a pair of legs in the stall with the closed door.  He saw none. 

            He grabbed the metal trash can and levered it underneath the door handle.  He withdrew his Glock and, angling the muzzle toward the ceiling, stalked toward the corner stall.

            “I know you’re in there, Judas,” Cutty said.  “You must answer for your betrayal.”

            Cutty kicked the door.  The cheap dead-bolt lock broke from the impact of the kick, and the door banged open.    

            The stall was empty.  But the toilet was full—of urine, and crap. 

            Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had reconnoitered.  The Judas must have visited earlier, set up the locked door, and left behind the disgusting mess in the toilet, a bold thumbing of his nose at Cutty and the organization. 

            An ordinary man would have sworn and been overcome with rage, but Cutty was better than that: a godly man was slow to anger.  He channeled his energies into his work.  Years of prayer, self-denial, and stringent discipline had armored him with an unflappable composure of which he was quite proud. 

            Holstering his gun, he kicked aside the trashcan from the door and hastened out of the restroom.  He spotted the women’s restroom across the corridor, and realized at once how the Judas had fooled

him a few minutes ago.  He’d merely entered the ladies’ room, knowing that Cutty would make the natural assumption that he’d gone into the men’s lavatory.

            He didn’t bother searching the ladies’ restroom.  The Judas would be out of the building by then, and they were going to lose him if they didn’t act fast.

            He radioed Valdez and got out of there, ramming like a tank through the crowd.