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suddenly had a plan.
    Peeking out from his hide, he made sure there wasn’t anyone nearby. He hefted the shovelhead and smashed the glass. Hooking the edge of the heavy tool on the handle, he pulled down the alarm and scurried behind a nearby soda machine.
    Strobe lights flashed and claxons sounded throughout the area. He h eard the security door fly open; the head guard’s voice rumbling, “What the hell is going on,” as footfalls raced away. Dusty popped his head around in time to spy the store cop rounding the far corner, being followed by the wide-eyed employees from the break room.
    He was in the security office in seconds, takin g a moment to study the complex-looking recording system. Shrugging his shoulders, he pressed a button labeled “Eject,” and smiled when a tape cartridge appeared in the slot. Fifteen seconds later, he walked out with a backpack stuffed full of cassettes.
    People were rushing everywhere. He spotted the elongated corridor with the exit sign and decided that was his best way out. Less than a minute later, he stepped into the bright sunlight, shielding his eyes while he got his bearings.
    Walking casually, he made for the front of the store and his waiting taxi. The stroll was much longer than anticipated given the huge dimensions of the retail giant. When he finally arrived at the corner leading to the parking lot, he chanced a glance around the wall and noticed several people rushing for their vehicles. A police car was just arriving, the officer a little confused by all the commotion.
    Dusty stroll ed right past the cop, his cab still waiting along the sidewalk.
    “Sorry that took so long, the store was having electrical issues,” he announced, opening the back door.
    “I thought they’d arrested you for shoplifting or something,” the cabbie teased. “Back to the hotel?”
    “No, I feel like getting a bit e to eat. How about that boardwalk place?”
    “Sure enough,” the guy replied, pulling the car into gear and rolling off.

     
    “We’ve got him,” sounded the excited voice through the cell phone’s tiny speaker.
    “Where?” asked Shultz, his heart already racing.
    “Kemah. He was picked up via a patrol car’s dash cam, walking out of a department store.”
    Kemah , thought Shultz, it all made sense. An easy place to dock a boat and get lost in a thickly populated and touristy shoreline. Then a scowl crossed the agent’s face, his mind registering all of the landmarks in the area, everything from NASA’s Johnson Space Center to the Kemah Boardwalk.
    “Make absolutely sure the local cops don’t try to be heroes. If they can keep an eye on him, then fine, but don’t try to take him down under any circumstances. Houston’s already suffered enough damage. I want a full tactical team, including the best sniper in Houston, at my parking spot in ten minutes.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Twelve minutes later, a caravan of federal SUVs rolled out of the FBI’s parking garage, Agent Shultz accompanied by one of the agency’s elite hostage rescue units, which included some of the finest long distance shooters in the world.
     

     
    Dusty spotted Grace roaming the waterfront shopping area, staring through a storefront window, two large shopping bags filled with packages weighing down her arms.
    “We’re running out of money quick, darling,” he teased, walking up behind her. “Do I need to cut up your credit cards?”
    She glanced down at the overflowing bags and grinned. “This is the stuff we bought at the hotel. I didn’t have a suitcase. I’m glad you’re okay. What happened?”
    They strolled together while he relayed his adventure, making for a secluded area not far from the amusement park.
    “That was a smart move,” she finally pronounced after he’d finished. “You were right – we’ve got to be more careful.”
    Taking a seat on a bench, Dusty scanned the area as if expecting to see SWAT teams maneuvering toward their perch. “I’ve got to get away from