He makes it nearly to the building before he realizes he's got a tail. It's the movement of the crowd, the way they part for him and stay parted. The way they seem to recognize a flow of traffic and adjust for it differently than they might for just one man. The reflection in pairs of sunglasses that he spots. He tests the theory by pivoting, course-correcting by suddenly veering left and splitting through a group of teenagers excitedly chattering about a picture on one of their phones.

He'll go around the next building over. Loop back if he loses his tail. If he doesn't, well, the mouth of an alley looms before them populated by trash cans and palettes. Plenty of room to dispose of a private security staff agent without arousing suspicion until it's too late. He just needs fifteen minutes and it'll be like he was never even here.

He dips into the alley and seems to disappear among the clutter.