“Carhartt. Walking like the Beacon Hill watcher.”
“Coincidence?” I asked.
The man stood at the back of the pickup, pretending to check something in the bed. He didn’t open the gate or lift anything out. He stood with his back to the unit we were watching, head tilted at an angle allowing him to see it in his peripheral vision.
“He’s reading the unit,” Dane said.
“Confirmed.”
I tapped the comm. “Collins, we’re seeing a white male, mid-forties, on the north side. He’s pretending to check a pickup while reading the unit.”
“I have him,” Collins said.
The man stood by the truck for another minute. He pulled out a phone, typed something, and put it away. Then he walked toward the rental office and went inside.
“Collins, keep watching,” I said.
“Copy.”
“He’s holding the courtyard until the courier arrives,” I said.
“Or he’s waiting on a friend who’s late,” Dane said.
“Or that.”
Eamon spoke in our ears. “Report.”
“Perimeter on the unit,” Dane said. “White male, forties, in a pickup, holding the courtyard. Not the courier.”
“How long?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Hold position. Tail the courier when you see him. Collins takes the lead. Dane and Farrow follow. We’ll hand the destination to federal when we have it.”
The line went quiet.
My pulse was racing. Dane’s breathing quickened.
We waited. The courier arrived at ten-forty-one.
It was a white panel van with no markings. It had Massachusetts plates, and the registration was current. He parked at the curb in front of the unit and killed the engine.
Dane lifted the binoculars.
He tapped the comm. “Eamon, he’s here. White Ford Transit with Massachusetts plates. It’s a solo driver. Male, white, mid-thirties, wearing a navy work jacket.” Dane provided the plate number.
“Running the plate,” Eamon said.
The man in Carhartt hadn’t moved. He’d been working a crossword on the clipboard for the last twenty minutes.
“Plate is registered to a vehicle leasing company in Lawrence,” Eamon said. “Short-term commercial leasing. We have a connection there. The lessee is a small business under an LLC name I’m running.”
“Run it against Wiley’s tier-three list,” I said.
“On it.”
The driver got out of the van. He stretched and walked around to the back. There, he opened the rear doors and looked at something inside.