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him to lead the way.  Devlin peers further down the sidewalk, then back
toward the rows of heavy traffic. 
     
                “You’ve got to be shitting me!”  Devlin exclaims
as he sees a police car mixed in amonst the rush hour traffic nearby.
     
                In the driver seat of the police car a black
officer is using his radio to give Devlin’s description to his dispatch team. 
His redheaded, male partner is also staring directly at Devlin, and watching
him with extreme suspicion.  When the officers realize that Devlin has spotted
them, they turn on their lights, flashing blue and red to clear traffic, creeping
ominously in his direction.               
     
                With an overwhelming kneejerk reaction, he spins
around, putting his back to the police car, sprinting quickly away from them
and surveying the streets near him.  Gloria also picks up her pace with a spirited
gait, the dog adapts to his uneasy demeanor, sniffing the air for threats as
they go.  Devlin sets his eyes on a Marriott Hotel just 200 yards away.  His
pace quickens when he realizes that he’ll need to traverse one city block to
get there. 
     
    CIA Black Site - Chicago
     
                Inside a reinforced concrete building, just a
few miles away, Max Maxwell listens to some interesting news coming from the
police scanner.  A smile forms on his pale face as he realizes that the
description being given matches that of Devlin McConnelly.  He leans back in
his chair with intense satisfaction, grabbing his bald head lovingly with his
right hand, as if groping a piece of fruit to extract something sweet.
     
                “Are you listening to me!?”  James Richins
demands as he stares at Maxwell with a look of disenfranchised betrayal, his
blue eyes seemingly innocent, projecting frustration.
     
                “No, I’m not, you dickless tool.” Maxwell
replies with a sneer, displaying his typical contempt for all things not
relevant to him. “Did you hear that the police scanner just picked up Devlin? 
We need to get someone over there now.”
     
                Maxwell is wearing his typical black eye-shadow
and a black Megadeth T-shirt that reads ‘Peace sells… but who’s buying’ on the
front.  He turns immediately to a Macintosh laptop on the desk at his right and
begins to search the CIA’s proprietary asset management system. 
     
                “Should we call Henri?” James asks with a bit
more backbone, placing his left hand under his chin and leaning forward with
his tall, thin frame. 
     
                “I’m doing that right now!” Maxwell snaps,
glaring at James with tired eyes, his gaze drifting over the younger man’s
bright blue dress shirt and pressed black slacks.  “Yes, I have eyes on Devlin
McConnelly,” Maxwell announces into the microphone of his laptop while holding
a small wireless receiver firmly inside his left ear, “I’m sending the address
to your phone.  No… That order has been revised.  We need to take him out, and
it’s okay to go dirty.”
     
                “Are you insane!?” James stares at Maxwell with
an open mouth, his neatly polished teeth illuminated in the brightly lit room. 
“You’re authorizing a dirty op?  You haven’t even talked to Henri.  What are
you doing, you control freak?”
     
                “Check that last order,” Maxwell begins, rolling
his eyes at his colleague, “you are authorized to go dirty, but don’t use
standard tactics, Devlin will be ready for that.”
     
                “I can’t believe this!” James concedes with
helpless frustration, looking at the floor and placing his right hand on his
forehead in a fit of anxiety.  “You know that Henri is going to feed you your
intestines for this, right?  A dirty op in the middle of downtown… I wish you’d
just leave your balls in