Chapter 20 #3
“It’s effective,” he said, not giving her doubts room to fester.
“This is not the time for uncertainty. Walk in there like you own the place, which you kind of do. Authority is another rule—acting like you’re in charge lets others not be in charge, and most people don’t want to be in charge.
They simply want order. If someone will lead, they’ll follow, so… lead.”
She groaned as she used the niqab to fan herself. “I am not cut out for spy stuff.”
Dillon smirked. “Just say less, not more. Explaining and being chatty gets you in trouble.”
“It is like you know me.”
He bit back a laugh. “I know people.” He indicated toward the GIS building. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
“Reverse that, and I would feel much better.”
“I’ve got your back, G.”
She flashed that award-winning smile. “Deal.”
They stepped from the alley and made their way down the street.
Dillon’s mind flashed back to the picture of Dad at the dock.
Of course, the boat he’d boarded wasn’t here now.
But it was haunting to be here, knowing Dad had been before washing up in Tanzania.
It was a crazy thought, but being here somehow made Dillon feel closer to finding him.
Had a spark of hope again. And that had a lot to do with the Italian heiress at his side.
He caught the door handle, half expecting it to be locked. To be denied—a common theme these many months since he’d set out from Virginia. Instead, it came open freely. He held it for her.
Cove slipped inside and immediately removed the niqab, which she manipulated to wear like a hijab as they made their way along the southern wall.
Pallets of boxes stacked thirty or forty meters high filled the cavernous space.
The unmistakable reek of seawater drenched the air and would’ve likely seeped into the boxes had they not been wrapped in shrink-wrap.
“Office is up on the second level,” she whispered.
Trailing Cove, he kept his head on a swivel and hands free, ready to grab the handgun at his back. They climbed the metal stairs to the upper level. Clapboard walls barricaded the offices and had two windows and a door.
Cove strode in with all the confidence he knew her to possess.
A man sitting at a desk to the right lazily looked up. His eyes bulged when he saw who stood before him and shot to his feet. “Miss Galtieri. So sorry. I did not know you come.”
“As-salamu alaikum, Mohammed,” Cove said, offering the standard Arabic greeting with a smile—a nice sight after being hidden on the streets—that was both warm and welcoming.
“Wa alaikum as-salam, Miss Cove,” Mohammed replied quickly, lowering his salt-and-peppered head in deference, his gaze then taking in Dillon. “Mr. Enzo did not say you were coming.”
Another man emerged from the far left, where a door led to a room with several desks visible. “Miss Cove, we hear about Mr. Galtieri. I am so sorry.”
Her gaze shifted to Dillon, then back to the man. “Thank you, Ali. We pray for his quick return, but that is part of why I am here. I need to do some work.”
“Of course,” Ali said, motioning her to the room with desks, then eyed Dillon curiously. “Your…security guard is welcome, of course.”
Cove shot him a look. “Oh—”
Dillon gave a sharp nod to the man. “Guard” was a good assumption because he would guard Cove.
Protect her with his last breath, if needed, and he liked that these men assumed that was his role.
That they perceived a level of threat from him that implied security detail.
“This way,” he said, holding a hand to the room with workstations.
In the office, she strode to a desk in the back corner and sat in the chair, which faced the door. Good.
As Dillon trailed her to the back of the work area, he scanned the ceiling and walls for security cameras but found none. Once she sat down, he positioned himself behind her, back to the wall, feet shoulder-width apart as he palmed a fisted hand, standing as sentry.
Cove powered up the system, then logged in. She eyed him over her shoulder. “You look so…terrifying standing like that.”
“Kinda the point,” he said with a smirk, noting the locals remained in the reception area.
“I have no idea what to look for…” she whispered, looking at the monitor again.
Shadows skittered and slid toward them. “Incoming,” Dillon subvocalized.
“Please, miss,” Mohammed said as he hedged into the long room. “We go home now. Yes?”
“Of course,” Cove said with all the ambivalence of a royal dismissing a servant. “I have my guard. Good night.”
Dillon kept his expression blank.
“Yes, thank you. Thank you.” He backed out, then both men exited the offices and headed down the stairs.
“That works,” Dillon muttered, crossing the workstations and out into the reception area. At the window in the door, he watched the two men exit the main warehouse. He closed the blinds in the window, flipped the lock, then returned to Cove and motioned to the computer.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“Any bills of lading from the night you saw Mostro here with the unknown male.”
Snickering, Cove went to work.
“In fact, maybe check the accounting books for that week too.” Dillon planted himself at a terminal across from her, pulled up a browser, then accessed the site to connect with Helios. He typed in a message.
SECURE SITE. NEED HELP. AROUND?
“I already looked at that,” Cove murmured absently.
“Can you access security feeds? Maybe get an image of that guy he was with?”
“I…have no idea how to access that.”
“Okay, give me a sec.” He sent the message to Helios.
Bling.
GA.
Relieved at the shorthand for go ahead, which meant Helios was on the other end and able to help, he sent another message.
NEED INFO FROM THESE SYSTEMS. CAN YOU ROOT IN?
STILL HAVE USB? PLUG IT IN.
Uh… Dillon grabbed the backpack and found the USB, which he stuck into the drive, then typed the response.
DONE.
“What are you doing?” Cove asked, ditching the niqab altogether.
“Giving my friend access so he can help us.” Dillon rotated toward her. “Did you find the records?”
“Yes, but…” She scanned and scrolled, clicked…all while frowning. Covering her mouth, she leaned an elbow on the desk as she stared at the monitor, that divot between her eyes deepening.
“Something wrong?”