AT 6:57 A.M. the next morning, Pike watched a metallic blue Ford sedan turn off Alameda Street into the Union Station parking lot. The sedan slowed for the hundreds of subway commuters emerging from the station, then crept to the far end of the lot.
Donald Pitman was driving, with Kevin Blanchette as a passenger. This was the first time Pike was seeing either man, but Cole had described them well, and Pitman had said they would be in the blue sedan. Both were clean-shaven, nice-looking men in their late thirties. Pitman had a narrow face with a sharp nose; Blanchette was larger, with chubby cheeks and a balding crown.
Neither they nor the seven other federal agents who were concealed in a perimeter around the station saw Pike. Pike assumed they were federal, but wasn’t sure and didn’t care. They had moved into position ninety minutes earlier. Pike had been in position since three A.M.
Pike watched them through his Zeiss binoculars from the second-floor pantry of an Olvera Street Mexican restaurant owned by his friend Frank Garcia. The ground floor was being remodeled, so the kitchen was closed. Pitman was expecting Pike and Larkin to arrive at seven A.M., but this did not happen. Larkin and Cole were having breakfast about now, and Pike was in the pantry.
At 7:22, Pitman and Blanchette got out of their car. They studied the passing traffic and the commuters coming from the station, but Pike knew they were worried.
At 7:30, they got back into the car. It wouldn’t be much longer until they accepted that they had been stood up.
Pike hurried downstairs to the employees’ bathroom off the kitchen. It had a single window that looked out at Union Station. Pike had opened it when he first arrived so its movement would draw no attention.
At 7:51, the seven agents surveilling the area emerged from their hiding places and gathered at the north corner of the parking lot. Pitman had flagged the play. Pike left the restaurant and trotted to Cole’s car, which was parked at the end of Olvera Street. Cole had swapped for the Lexus.
Pike followed the blue sedan south on Alameda toward the Roybal Building-the federal office building. The rush-hour stop-and-go was brutal, with only a few cars at a time spurting forward between grudging light changes, but Pike counted on this working for him.
The blue sedan was three cars ahead when the yellow went red, and Pitman was trapped. Pike maneuvered Cole’s car into a loading zone, got out, and watched the crossing lights ahead. When the crossing light signaled the lights were about to change, Pike trotted forward, picking up speed.
Pike closed on the sedan like a shark tracking a blood trail and attacked out of their blind spot. Neither man saw him, and neither was expecting his assault. Pike reached Blanchette’s side of the sedan just as the light turned green, and shattered Blanchette’s window with his pistol.
Pike jerked the door open and pushed his gun into Blanchette’s side, screaming to keep him confused.
“Your belt. Pop your belt-”
Pike stripped Blanchette’s gun, dragged him from the car, and proned him on the street, keeping his gun on Pitman.
“Hands on the wheel! On the wheel or I’ll kill you.”
The cars ahead of them were gone. The lane was clear. Horns behind them shrieked as Pike slid into the car.
Pitman said, “Pike?”
Pike stripped Pitman’s weapon and tossed it into the back. Outside, Blanchette was getting up.
“Drive!”
Pitman didn’t move, maybe slowed by confusion, but his eyes flickered with anger.
“I’m a federal agent. You can’t-”
Pike hit him hard in the forehead with his pistol, grabbed the wheel, and powered through the light.