ELEVEN
May 24 8:29 a.m.“I think that this is the best spot for access to town and the Highway One,” FBI Agent Chris Pratt told the other seven agents standing at the bottom of an infrequently used offramp, five miles south of the central coast beach town of Cayucos. The agents wore casual clothes and nothing that would identify them as law enforcement beyond short haircuts and hidden handguns. “We can’t risk letting this guy see the rest of us before he gives Jack Winters instructions on where to deliver the money.” The team looked across the hilly expanse of land on the east and then towards the ocean a mile to the west. “You all know the drill. The perp has a description of the car, Jack’s picture, and the plate number of the Malibu. He also has a number for this cell phone.” Pratt look
