Chapter 7
Travis
Cole had cracked the message barely an hour ago. An encrypted exchange between Denton and an unknown supplier, confirming the time and location of their meeting.
Harris had given the order. “Move in, confirm the supplier’s identity, gather intel. No engagement unless absolutely necessary. I’ll have backup stationed a few blocks out. If things get heated, call it in.”
Travis had acknowledged with a sharp nod and yes, sir, as he was already gearing up until he saw Cole doing the same.
“You’re not coming,” Travis said flatly, adjusting the strap on his tactical vest. “You don’t have the experience.”
Cole scoffed, folding his laptop closed on the kitchen counter. “I’m literally the reason we have this intel. You’ll need me out there.”
“You’re overconfident,” Travis shot back. “This isn’t a controlled op behind a screen or even a training op. This is the field. It’s unpredictable. It’s dangerous. And you…” he gestured at Cole, exasperated, “have barely spent any time in the field.”
Cole didn’t budge. “I can handle myself, Captain.”
Travis clenched his whole face, ready to pull rank, but Harris cut in over the comms before he could argue further. “He’s still an agent, McAllister. He’s done his basic training. He needs to learn.”
“But, Sir…”
“The field will make him or break him. That’s an order…”
Harris let the silence stretch on for a moment. Cole shot Travis a very smug look of satisfaction that grated on him in totally the wrong way.
“Steele, listen to McAllister, or you might not live to see the field again.”
Cole’s momentary look of smugness was wiped away instantly by Harris’s admonishment.
Travis pressing his lips together. He didn’t like it. But an order was an order.
“Yes, sir,” Travis muttered, grabbing his gear. “Stay close, Steele, stay quiet, and if you pull any stunts, I swear to god…”
“Relax, Captain,” Cole interrupted, grinning as he followed him out. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
◆◆◆
The abandoned factory sat in the heart of a decaying industrial estate, surrounded by crumbling warehouses and overgrown lots littered with rusted machinery.
It was exactly the sort of dump criminals liked to crawl into.
It was all rusted beams, shattered windows, and the lingering stench of oil and bad decisions.
The whole area had that deliberately forgotten look, like the city had turned a blind eye long ago, making it the perfect place for gangs to conduct illegal business.
Travis eyed the factory from their white utility van, parked a safe distance away in the shadow of a derelict loading dock. Cracked pavement stretched out before them. The van’s engine was off, the silence wrapping around them as they observed, waiting.
“It’s a good job we have parking under the apartment, imagine if this van was out on the street in that neighborhood,” Cole said, thoughtlessly breaking the silence.
“Can you focus please, Cole?”
“But seriously, they’d slash the tires, break the windows…”
“Cole!”
Cole shifted beside him, falling silent for just a moment, peering over the dashboard.
“Seriously, what is it with these dudes and abandoned buildings?” he muttered.
“Like, have they never heard of a coffee shop? An art gallery maybe? A park? A woodland? Or a—oh, I don’t know—literally any place that isn’t straight out of a horror movie? ”
Travis didn’t respond. His focus was locked on the factory entrance through his binoculars, scanning for any sign of movement.
Denton, their mid-level logistics guy, was supposed to be here for a meeting with a potential supplier.
If they could confirm that, they’d have a direct lead into the gang’s supply chain.
Cole, however, was not built for silence.
“I mean, imagine being that guy. ‘Hey, where do you want to meet, man? A diner? A park bench?’ And Denton’s just like, ‘Nah, bro, let’s go somewhere with tetanus.’”
Travis’s tone was clipped. “Steele.”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“But…”
“That’s an order.”
Cole huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. But just so you know, when this operation is over, I will be making a PowerPoint presentation on the correlation between organized crime and structurally unsound buildings.”
Travis ignored him.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. The sun had set completely, and the haze of distant streetlights cast long shadows across the cracked pavement. Travis shifted uncomfortably in his seat from the uncertainty.
The waiting stretched long, heavy with silence.
Travis checked his watch, frowning. “You sure about your intel?”
He instantly regretted the accusatory tone that the word your carried with it.
Cole didn’t look up from his laptop. “Yes, Sir!” His tone was a little sharper than he had intended.
Travis scanned the empty lot. “Then where the hell is Denton?”
Cole’s fingers never stopped typing. “It’s a crime meeting, not a bus schedule. Maybe he’s dealing with something else.”
Travis wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm. He kept his voice level, but firm. “What if you got the code wrong?”
That made Cole pause. Just for a second. He glared at Travis, holding his own. “I didn’t.”
Travis held his gaze. “Can’t you just break into his messages again?”
“Normally I’d be able to tell you exactly where he was and what he was talking about and with whom, but like I said, they’re not using everyday technology.”
A tense beat passed.
Then—headlights.
A vehicle rolled slowly up to the factory in the distance and stopped quietly, just far enough for them to get a view without being seen. Three men stepped out of the vehicle.
“That should be Denton alright.”
Cole didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled slowly, leaning back in his seat like he’d never doubted himself for a second.
Travis gave a single, begrudging nod. Professional. Acknowledging defeat. Acknowledging Cole.
“Nice of him to show,” he murmured.
Cole grinned. “Told you.”
Then a black SUV rolled to a stop just outside the factory gates.
Travis straightened. “Eyes on.”
Cole immediately perked up, tapping quickly at his laptop as he opened up the local CCTV feed. “Looks like Denton’s inside, there’s quite a few guys there, but these cameras are really poor quality and old,” he confirmed. “These cameras are not good enough to check those license plates.”
“I need to get closer. I’m going in.” Travis’s tone left no room for debate.
He reached for the car door without thinking. His fingers brushed over the metal handle, but then—he hesitated. It had started as instinct, but then he stopped. The longer he sat there, the more he realized it wasn’t just the usual risk assessment running through his head.
It was Cole.
Someone he shouldn’t be worried about. But the thought of leaving Cole alone in this situation didn’t sit right.
He told himself it was just practicality. Cole was unpredictable, irresponsible even. If things went sideways, Travis needed to be right on top of him. Not a damned dangerous distance away inside that dilapidated old building. Basic training wouldn’t keep the kid safe alone.
Still, it gnawed at him, too much for just professional instinct, but he didn’t have time to ponder his feelings right now.
Travis coughed. “We’re getting closer.”
Cole blinked in shock. “Uh, we?”
Travis shot him a look. “You’re not staying here alone. Grab your vest and get your phone now, you get the photos and I’ll cover you if anything goes wrong.”
Cole opened his mouth like he was about to argue, then seemed to reconsider. “I’m in, Captain.”
Cole had his vest on in no time. They slipped out of the van, Travis moving first, his steps smooth and controlled, years of training evident in the way he flowed across the pavement without a sound.
He kept his body low, every movement deliberate as he reached the factory’s outer wall and pressed himself against the cold, rusted metal.
Without hesitation, he peered through a busted window, scanning for threats with the kind of precision that had long since become second nature.
Cole followed, quieter than Travis expected but not with the same practiced ease.
His strides were careful but cautious, like someone who knew how to stay unseen but hadn’t made a career out of it.
He adjusted his glasses when he reached the wall.
Not bad. At least he wasn’t tripping over his own feet.
Through the cracked, dirt-streaked window, the figures inside were little more than silhouettes under the dim, flickering lights.
Denton stood stiffly by a stack of rusted crates, speaking to a taller, broader man in a worn leather jacket who was eerily still.
Around them, armed men lingered. Their voices were too low to hear, their exchanges unreadable from a distance.
Cole was already working, snapping quick photos of the vehicles and then the men on his phone, zooming in as much as the poor lighting allowed.
“This resolution’s not great,” he muttered, adjusting the settings.
Then, without looking up, he adjusted his phone, tapping the screen frantically.
“I’m trying to access their Bluetooth signals.
If one of them has an earpiece or an open connection, I should be able to tap in. ”
Travis kept his eyes on the scene, muscles coiled with tension. “And?”
“Nothing,” Cole muttered, frustration edging into his voice. His fingers flew over the keyboard, but every attempt hit a dead end. “Whatever they’re using, it’s super advanced or they’re smart enough to keep their devices off during meetings.”
He hesitated, then sighed softly. “Actually… no. It’s really advanced. They’re running an oscillating quantum shift cipher.”
Travis shot him his sternest no-nonsense face. “English, Steele.”
“This is military-grade stuff. It’s like trying to pick a lock while someone keeps changing the shape of the keyhole,” Cole grumbled. “It’s not impossible… but it’s damn close.”
“How are the photos?” Travis muttered.