Agent Mulqueen heard a knock at the van’s back door and her hand was immediately at her sidearm.

“Relax,” Agent Champs said. “It’s just the delivery guy.” She snuck out the door and returned with a bag of sandwiches and chips. “See? I’m guessing by the look on your face you don’t see.”

The look wasn’t good. “You know how much protocol you just broke by having sandwiches delivered to a surveillance van while you’re on duty in the middle of a stakeout of an international drug kingpin?!”

“Not enough to keep me from enjoying this salami,” Champs answered, unwrapping her sub. “Aw, man, they put olives on there. I told them not to put olives on it.”

“I can’t believe you,” Mulqueen said as she sniffed at the other sandwich.

“Believe it. Olives. Right there.”

“You know what I mean, Pam.”

“Look, it’s Friday night. You know what that old pervert does on Friday night. He’s gonna be too busy to spot a sandwich bike messenger.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about; it’s the seven members of security on property,” Mulqueen meant to say, but it was a bit muffled by the amount of food in her mouth. She saw her partner starting to giggle. “Don’t you dare. This is not an endorsement of your reckless endangerment of this mission.”

“Yeah, okay, Agent Hypocrite.” She had finished inhaling her sub and picked up a pair of headphones with one hand while opening a bag of chips with the other. “Let’s see what Big Cortez has Little Cortez up to tonight.”

The sounds of choking froze Agent Champs mid-bite. “Someone’s strangling the old bastard.” She bolted out the door with her partner in close pursuit. They ran to the side gate, kicking it down and throwing up their badges, shouting “FBI!” to anyone who approached. At the top of the grand staircase, the master bedroom’s doors and windows were open wide. The quick check of their subject’s wrist was pure formality.

Mulqueen let out a long breath, and Champs said, “Huh. We both made it up here with our chips.” She was right. Each threw a chip in her mouth. Nothing else to do, really.