It doesn't do much good to know where a teleporter is, Malone thought. But it's extremely handy to know where he's going to be. And if you also know what he plans to do when he gets where he's going, you've got an absolute lead-pipe cinch to work with.
The Queen and Malone had provided that lead-pipe cinch. They were sure that Mike planned to raid the sporting-goods store with the rest of the Spooks that night.
But, of course, they might all just be riding for some kind of horrible, unforeseen fall—
The main part of the sporting-goods store was fairly well lit, even at night, though it was by no means brightly illuminated. There were show-window lights on, and the street lamp from outside cast a nice glow. Malone was grateful for that. But the back room was dark, and the four men there were well-concealed. A curtain closed the room off, and Malone watched the front of the store through a narrow opening in it. He stared until his eyes ached, afraid to blink in case he missed the appearance of the Spooks. Everything had to go off just right, precisely on schedule.
And it was going to happen any minute, he told himself nervously. In just a few minutes, everything would be over.
Malone held his breath.
Then he saw the figure walk slow
ly by the glass front of the shop, looking in with over-elaborate casualness. He was casing the joint, making sure there was no one left in it.
Mike Fueyo.
Malone tried to breathe, and couldn't.