Patience, Patience

 260.

The address, where Cyrus - still talking to The Queen - is a Motel located on Orlando's airport row, maybe a mile from the airport's main entrance. We pull into the parking lot and scan the three stories of identical looking rooms, every one of them with an orange door and adjacent two-panel rectangular slider windows with creme-colored curtains, most of them drawn. I assign Drysdale the second floor and Mustang the third, keeping the more accessible parking level for myself. Judging from the number of cars in the lot the "premium" motel looks about half full, or half empty as pessimists might see it.

"Anything that moves is of interest," I remind them as I continue with Mutt who has already alerted security at the airport to vacate the immediate vicinity of the Delta arrival terminal.

"We have an agent speed-checking surveillance footage of the area and might have something pretty quick," he says with an optimistic tone, "the first vehicle was a rented cargo van so we're prioritizing that, also running rental contracts from the area's truck rental sites. Hurt Locker unit is five minutes away."

"We've attempted to jam his activation device, but I am told that its new technology, so we need to proceed as if the van, or truck is hot," I advise, "no test data to confirm a percentage of probability. Plus…" I see a window curtain open slightly near the concrete and steel staircase at the center of the ground floor layout. I point to it alerting Drysdale and continuing on with Mutt, "plus there is the possibility of a second,  a backup, phone, which…"

Drysdale has seen enough and points where Mustang is to WALK to the far right, what would under normal circumstances be 'the back door' but in this case is the 'weak side' and then wait for his signal. He nonchalantly moves left towards the Motel's blinding neon office and its giant humming ice machine.

I call Davis. "How is Bartowsky?

"They just wheeled him into ICU, we're in the lobby. What do you…"

"Have you looked at his phone yet?"

"There's not much left of it, he was carrying in his front coat pocket and it took the slug before his lung did, probably saved his life." He reports.

"Good, hang on to it and bring it, along with his piece, a Snubby 38 right? and everything else in his possession, to our current location." I provide him with the address of the Motel but not before answering his question about how I knew the caliber and model of Bartowsky's weapon.

I call Julie. "Are we good to go?"

"As soon as The Queen terminates the call we can disable all further usage, with a seventy-five percent chance of success." She tells me.

"Seven plus times out of ten. Nothing you can do to increase the odds?" I ask.

"We've tried matching the service provider with his phone, but drew a blank."

"Alright, we are about to engage with Cyrus and what appears to be one additional hostile at the Motel. I am going to give Mutt and his team another five minutes to clear the airport. Unless we need to…"

The orange door of the room at the base of the stairs opens. On my com I instruct The Queen to terminate the call.

I look at Drysdale, strobing in flaming red neon, and then to Mustang at the corner of the building.

"Patience, patience."