41. Omar
Omar
James pulled the car onto Pacific Street at two in the morning.
The block was quiet, residential, parked cars lining both sides.
The building Devon had flagged was halfway down on the north side, a ground-floor unit in a low-rise with a rusted fire escape and a light on behind a curtain on the second floor.
"That's the one," Devon confirmed through the earpiece. "Cell tower ping puts Asha's phone inside that building as of forty minutes ago."
"Guard count?"
"Two on the front. One inside based on the thermal scan. No movement on the upper floors."
I looked at James. He checked his piece, tucked it back, nodded once.
"Devon, cut the exterior lights when I say."
"Ready."
We got out of the car and moved up the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows under the trees.
The two guards on the front steps were young, both of them sitting on the railing scrolling their phones, weapons visible in their waistbands.
They weren't expecting trouble. They were babysitting a location, pulling a shift, waiting for morning.
"Now," I said into the earpiece.
The streetlights on the block went dark.
Both guards looked up from their phones at the same time, their eyes adjusting to the sudden black.
I was on the first one before he got his hand to his waistband.
My fist connected with the side of his head, snapping it sideways.
He went off the railing and hit the ground.
The second guard scrambled backward, reaching for his weapon.
James came from the other side and caught his arm mid-draw, twisted it behind his back, drove him face-first into the brick wall beside the door.
His nose broke against the mortar with a crack that carried across the stoop.
Both guards down in under ten seconds. James zip-tied them while I tried the front door. Locked. I put my shoulder into it twice before the frame splintered and gave.
The hallway was dark, narrow, residential carpet that hadn't been replaced since the building was built.
One door on the left, one on the right, a staircase at the end.
The inside guard came out of the left-side door fast, a pistol up, his eyes wild in the dark.
I grabbed the barrel before he could aim, pushed it toward the ceiling.
The gun went off once, the shot punching through the plaster above us, dust and debris raining down.
I drove my knee into his stomach, folded him over, ripped the gun free.
James was behind me. He put the guard on the ground with a heel strike to the back of his knee, then zip-tied him while the man gasped for air on the carpet.
"Clear?" James asked.
"Not yet."
I moved through the left-side door. A room with a table, two chairs, a fluorescent light buzzing overhead. The same setup Devon had described from the cell tower data. The same room type Supreme's people used for holding.
Empty.
The chairs were pushed back. A water bottle was on the table, half full, the cap sitting beside it. A jacket was draped over one of the chairs, a woman's jacket, dark fabric, something I didn't recognize.
I checked the right-side room. Empty. Bathroom at the end of the hall. Empty. Upstairs, two apartments, both unlocked, both cleared. Nobody home. The whole building was hollow.
"Devon." I was back in the ground-floor room, looking at the empty chairs, the water bottle, the jacket. "She's not here."
Silence on the other end. Then Devon's voice, tight: "The phone ping was forty minutes ago. She was there, Omar. The data doesn't lie."
"The data says a phone was here. Not Asha."
I picked up the jacket from the chair. It wasn't hers. Too big, too heavy, the wrong brand. Supreme's people had left it here as dressing, to make the room look occupied, to make the phone signal look legitimate.
"They moved her," I said. "Supreme knew we were coming. He moved her to a secondary location before we got here."
James appeared in the doorway. "Building's clear. Three guards, all secured. No sign of Supreme or Asha."
"I know."
I stood in that empty room with the buzzing light and the water bottle and the jacket that wasn't hers, and my mind was already running through the next steps.
Supreme had been tipped off or he'd been paranoid enough to rotate locations.
Either way, Asha was somewhere else in Brooklyn, in a room I hadn't found yet, with a man who knew we were coming for him.
"Devon, I need everything you've got. Secondary locations for Supreme's people.
Every property, every safe house, every building connected to his operation.
Pull the data from Asha's debrief, cross-reference with the financial records from the raid.
If he's moved her, he's taken her somewhere he thinks we can't find. "
"Already running it." Devon's voice was steady now, the surprise replaced by focus. "Give me fifteen minutes."
"You got ten."
I walked out of the building past the three zip-tied guards. The one with the broken nose was conscious, blood running down his face, his eyes tracking me as I passed.
"Where'd they take her?" I asked him.
He spat blood onto the carpet. "Fuck you."
I crouched down beside him. "Your boss is going down tonight.
His money's gone, his locations are compromised, and every man working for him is looking at charges if this goes federal.
You can help yourself right now by telling me where he moved the woman, or you can sit here bleeding until the police show up. "
"I don't know where they took her. They moved her before my shift started. I showed up, the room was empty, they told me to sit tight."
"Who told you?"
"Dre called. Said Supreme was relocating to the Crown Heights spot. Said stay here and make it look occupied."
"The Crown Heights spot. Which one?"
"I don't know the address. Dre handles that. I just work the door."
I stood up. "Devon, you get that?"
"Got it. Pulling Dre's known locations now. Cross-referencing with Crown Heights properties in Supreme's portfolio."
James was by the car. "What now?"
"We wait for Devon. Then we move."
I got in the car and sat there with the engine running. The adrenaline from the breach was still in my arms, my hands, the muscles across my shoulders. Three guards down, a building cleared, and all of it for an empty room with a water bottle and a jacket that didn't belong to anyone.
Supreme had moved her. Maybe hours before we arrived, maybe minutes. The phone ping was bait, the location was a decoy, and somewhere in Crown Heights, Asha was in another room with another buzzing light and another set of guards between her and the door.
My phone buzzed. Devon: Crown Heights safe house identified. 1847 Sterling Place, second floor apartment. Supreme's name on a shell company that owns the building. Thermal scan shows four heat signatures.
Four people. Supreme, Asha, two guards.
I forwarded the address to James. He read it, put the car in gear, and we drove toward Crown Heights.
This time when I walked through the door, the room wouldn't be empty.