Stakeout

The tritium container fitted with a tracking transmitter was placed inside a black backpack. Barbara Morse, escorting the tritium with the tactical team, arrived at the designated drop-off point but did not put the backpack directly into the trash can.

She remained inside the van's temporary command center, confirming that all deployed personnel were in position and that the snipers atop the buildings on both sides were standing by.

As dawn broke, pedestrian and vehicle traffic on the street gradually increased. At first, there were only people out for morning exercise; then came vendors, trucks delivering fresh produce to restaurants and supermarkets, and early-shift cleaners hurrying to work.

By seven o'clock, people were getting ready for work. The street, which had seemed fairly spacious before, was packed wall to wall with people. Cyclists weaved constantly through the lanes and sidewalks, occasionally drawing shouts and curses.

The van door beside Barbara Morse was suddenly pulled open, and Nick Fury climbed in. "Has the item been put in the trash can?"

"Not yet." Barbara Morse pointed at the black backpack beside her. "It's still there. Do you want to inspect it?"

"No need. Put it in the designated location." The black, one-eyed man stepped up to the console and pressed the microphone switch. "This is Nick Fury. The cheese is going on the mousetrap. Everyone, stay sharp."

Responses came over the radio channel one after another. At Nick Fury's instruction, Barbara Morse personally threw the black backpack into the designated trash can.

After casually making a circuit around the area before returning to the van, Barbara Morse happened to hear Nick Fury briefing everyone.

"Keep an eye on anyone approaching the trash can. If they have anywhere on them to hide a black backpack, assume they'll use a sleight of hand to