17. The Warehouse
The Warehouse
“Stay here.”He was already out of bed.He pulled on a pair of jeans, tucked the weapon behind his back and crossed the guesthouse.Another knock.Three sharp hits.Chris looked through the peephole.Diego.That could mean a dozen things.None of them good at four in the morning.Chris opened the door halfway.Diego looked him over.
“Get dressed.”Chris glanced down.“I’ve achieved pants. ”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Five minutes.”
“For?”
“Mateo wants you.”Chris’s sarcasm disappeared.“Where?”Diego was already walking away.“Five minutes, Roman.”Chris watched him cross toward the main house.Something was happening.Something important.He closed the door.“What’s wrong?”Chris turned.
Camila stood in the bedroom doorway wrapped in his shirt.Her dark hair was messy from sleep.Her eyes weren’t.They were alert.Watching him.“Nothing.”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“Your brother wants me.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t say.”She frowned.Chris headed toward the bedroom.Camila followed.“You’re going?”“Apparently.”
“Where?”
“Camila.”
“What?”He pulled on a black shirt.“I don’t know.”She studied him.Chris could practically see her thinking.“You’re doing it again.”He stopped.“Doing what?”
“Changing.”His heartbeat gave one hard beat.“What does that mean?”
“You were half asleep thirty seconds ago.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were in bed.”
“Not the same thing.”Camila leaned against the doorway.“Now you’re…”She searched for the word.Chris waited.“Different.”That word bothered him.“How?”
“Focused.”Chris reached for his boots.“It’s four in the morning and Diego just appeared at my door. Seems like a good time to focus.”Camila continued watching him.“Be careful.”
That stopped him.He looked up.The concern in her expression hit harder than it should have.Chris crossed the room.He put one hand around the back of her neck and kissed her.
Not long.Not heated.Just enough.“I’ll be back.”
“You don’t know that.”He did.Or at least he needed her to believe he did.“I’ll be back.”
Camila touched his jaw.“You better.”Chris smiled faintly.“Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“Unfortunately.”He kissed her forehead.Then walked away.At the door, he looked back.
Camila was still standing there.Watching him.Chris forced himself to leave.
Chris closed the door and put his gun behind his jeans on his waist.Mateo was waiting beside a black Escalade.Diego stood at the driver’s door.Two other men Chris recognized from Mateo’s security detail occupied another vehicle.No one explained anything.Chris approached.Mateo opened the rear door.
“Get in.”Chris looked at him.“Good morning to you too.”
“Roman.”
“Getting in.”Chris climbed inside.Mateo followed.Diego drove.No destination entered into navigation.No conversation.No music.Nothing.Chris sat back and watched the city disappear.Ten minutes.Twenty.Thirty.They moved into an industrial area near the southern edge of the city.Chris didn’t ask questions.Roman wouldn’t.Walker was memorizing everything.Left on Mercer.Right on Industrial.Railroad tracks.Two miles.Abandoned gas station.Distribution center.Another turn.Security camera mounted on a utility pole.
Gray warehouse.Blue loading doors.Fenced perimeter.Two guards.Black Tahoe.
White cargo van.Silver Ford pickup.Temporary Texas plate.Chris stored it all.
Every detail.Every turn.Every face.Every vehicle.His pulse remained steady.But something inside him knew.This was it.They’d been trying to get here for months.
Maybe years.The Escalade slowed.A steel gate opened.Diego drove through.
Chris glanced toward Mateo.“Little early for shopping.”Mateo smiled faintly.
“Thought you wanted more responsibility.”
“I like responsibility.”
“You like money.”
“That too.”
“Then pay attention.”Chris looked through the windshield.Oh, he intended to.
The warehouse was enormous.Chris knew something was wrong the moment the side door opened.The smell hit first.Cardboard.Diesel.Plastic.Dust.Men were moving everywhere.Not security.Workers.Chris counted without looking like he was counting.
Six near the loading area.Four farther inside.Two at a table.Three beside a van.Diego walked ahead.Mateo gestured.“Come on.”Chris followed.They passed stacks of ordinary commercial boxes.Automotive parts.Electronics.Cleaning supplies.
Everything designed to make the building look exactly like what it claimed to be.
A distribution warehouse.Then they crossed through a second secured door.
Chris stepped inside.And nearly stopped walking.Packages.Hundreds of them.
Maybe more.Rectangular bricks wrapped tightly in plastic.Stacked across tables.
Inside open crates.Along pallets.Men wearing gloves worked quickly.
Cutting.Weighing.Repacking.Diego stood at one of the tables.He opened a large black duffel bag.One package went inside.Then another.Then another.Chris felt something cold settle inside his chest.Finally.There it fucking was.Months of intelligence.Informants.
Surveillance.Wire requests.Dead ends.People too terrified to testify.Suspected shipments they could never connect directly to Mateo.And now Chris Walker was standing in the middle of it.Mateo Vargas’s narcotics operation.Not rumor.Not suspicion.Not circumstantial evidence.Real.Chris forced Roman onto his face.He looked around with mild interest.
“Busy morning.”Mateo watched him.“Problem?”Chris looked at the packages.Then at Mateo.“Depends.”
“On?”
“How much I’m getting paid.”Mateo smiled.Good.Roman passed the test.Walker wanted to put him through the fucking wall.Instead Chris shoved his hands into his pockets.Casual.
Unimpressed.While his mind became a camera.Male, approximately forty, scar along left cheek.Black polo.Gold watch.Called Miguel by another worker.Another man.Late twenties.Snake tattoo on right forearm.Loaded two duffels.White cargo van backed against loading door four.Partial plate.Chris memorized it.Three black duffel bags went into the van.
Another four into the Tahoe.Conversation to his right.“…Phoenix by tomorrow.”
Chris didn’t turn.Another voice:“Mateo wants the west route changed.”“Why?”
“Too much attention near El Paso.”Chris kept walking.Every word stored.Every detail.
He couldn’t write anything down.Couldn’t photograph anything.Couldn’t risk touching the covert transmitter unless absolutely necessary.So he remembered.Names.Faces.
Vehicles.Routes.Numbers.He’d been trained for exactly this.Mateo stopped near a folding table.A man Chris hadn’t seen before approached.Older.Expensive suit.No gloves.Didn’t touch anything.Important.
“Mateo.”They shook hands.Chris glanced away as though uninterested.He listened. “Shipment arrived short.”
“How short?”
“Six.”
“That isn’t my problem.”
“It becomes your problem when Monterrey expects the full amount.”Monterrey.Chris stored it.Mateo lowered his voice.Chris shifted just enough to hear.
“Tell Salazar he’ll have the balance Friday.
”Chris’s heartbeat kicked.Salazar.A name.Finally.The older man nodded.
“Friday.”Mateo’s gaze suddenly moved toward Chris.
Chris was already examining a stack of boxes.“What?” he asked.Mateo watched him.
Chris raised an eyebrow.“You brought me here.”For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Mateo smiled.“You really don’t scare easily.”Chris shrugged.“I’ve seen worse.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie.Mateo walked closer.“This is why I need people I can trust.”
Chris looked around the warehouse.Then back at him.“Trust gets expensive.”
Mateo laughed.“Everything with you is money.”
“Money doesn’t disappoint you.”The words came easily.Roman.Cold.
Transactional.Exactly the kind of man Mateo understood.Except Chris knew, somewhere across the city, Camila was probably lying awake waiting for him.And suddenly the line tasted bitter.Mateo slapped his shoulder.“Come on.”Chris followed.
But not before memorizing the serial number printed on the nearest pallet label.
Two hours later, Chris was back in the Escalade.He didn’t speak.Mateo didn’t seem bothered.That helped.Chris watched the roads again.Counting turns in reverse.Rebuilding the route.Then Mateo’s phone rang.
“Sí.”Chris looked through the window.Mateo switched into rapid Spanish.Chris understood enough.Shipment.Friday.Change in location.Salazar.Chris kept his expression blank.Then Mateo said something else.Camila’s name.Chris’s attention sharpened despite himself.Mateo glanced toward him.Chris immediately looked bored again.Mateo ended the call.
“My sister says you’re supposed to take her somewhere at eleven.
”Chris checked his watch.“Your sister schedules my life now?”
“She schedules everyone’s life.”
“Good to know.”Mateo smiled.Then his expression changed.“You take care of her.”Chris looked at him.There was something heavier in those words now.“You know I do.”
“Yes.”Mateo held his gaze.“I do.”Chris looked away first.Not because he was afraid Mateo knew.Because sitting beside the man he intended to put in federal prison while accepting his trust regarding Camila suddenly felt unbearably complicated.Mateo had just shown him enough to begin destroying the Vargas organization.And trusted him enough to protect the person Mateo loved most.Chris stared through the window.Fuck.
At 9:36 a.m., Chris Walker entered the FBI field office through the secure underground entrance.At 9:38, the operations room exploded.“You saw the product?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
“Define a lot.”Chris dropped into a chair.“Enough that we’re not discussing some neighborhood operation. Hundreds of wrapped packages in the restricted section alone. Multiple pallets. Active repackaging.”Mercer was already writing.Sloan stood at the board.
Logan stared at Chris.“Jesus.”
“Vehicles?” Mercer asked.“White cargo van. Black Tahoe. Silver Ford pickup. Escalade stayed outside.”Chris recited everything he remembered.Makes.Models.Partial plates.
Identifying damage.Loading doors.Number of bags.Number of workers.Approximate package counts.The room became increasingly quiet.“Faces?”Chris gave descriptions.Sloan started pulling photographs.“This one?”