Marcus Cole had chosen the meeting place himself, a detail Ezra found more unsettling than any show of force would have been—a public rooftop restaurant overlooking the financial district, chosen specifically, Ezra suspected, because it announced a particular kind of confidence. A man who feared exposure didn't request a table with a view.

"He wants witnesses," Ezra said, as their car wound through morning traffic toward the address Cole's message had specified. "Or he wants us to think he does. Either way, it tells you something about how certain he is that nothing said at that table will matter beyond the two of us hearing it."

"Then we make sure...