Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Louder grumbles are followed by Reynolds chuckling, “Fuck, man, not for much longer after that hit.”
“Eyes up, soldier.” When the order isn’t instantly met, a second punch to the other side is executed. “I said…Eyes. Up.”
Despite the heavy howls of agony leaving him, the captive forces his head to lift.
Teary stare to find mine.
Attempts to focus the best it can around the swollen lids.
“It’s hard to breathe ‘cause your ribs are fractured.” Folding my arms across my chest is done between announcements. “Lie to me, and I’ll make that shit worse. Try to lie to me, and I’ll make that shit worse. Lie to me by omittin’ somethin’, and I’ll make that shit worse. Waste my time?”
“And he’ll kill you,” Reynolds smoothly finishes the declaration for me.
“Understood?”
He does his best to nod.
After removing the tape from his mouth, I ask, “I know you don’t know who hired you ‘cause if you did then I would by this point, so what I need to know right now is when did you pick up this assignment?”
Rather than respond, I receive a low collection of rumbles.
Rumbles that prompt me to execute a hard strike to his lower ribcage. Echoes of the critical pieces to his endoskeleton snapping like tiny celery stalks pull a smile onto my face but a cringe out of Reynolds.
“Fuccckkkk,” my partner for the moment hisses under his breath, “I felt that shit over here.”
Grabbing the man by his bruised cheeks, I clench them tightly and angle his face upward to meet my glare. “Answer. Faster.”
He nods once more prior to him muttering, “M-m-midnight. Midnightish.”
I relinquish my grip and resume my previous position.
Alright.
Midnight means everyone had already been informed we would be in the office today. The Numbers. Security. Tactical. Accounting. Cyber. Secretaries. Pretty much anyone our paths would’ve needed to cross with or might’ve needed to cross with. And unfortunately, that also means, anyone they could’ve talked to might’ve come into the know about Arley being in the building if the aforementioned let it slip out in passing. Or…if someone walked by and overheard the announcement. Or…if someone knew to follow one of them to get that information. Or hell, someone could’ve seen a fucking email pulled up on a screen – computer or phone – while they were around one of the people who received the warning.
See, the biggest issue with security is rarely the system in place itself. More often than not, it’s the people that are the problem.
People make even the most theoretically impenetrable places vulnerable.
They’re always the weak point.
Easy to exploit.
Hard to predict.
“When did you get information and access?”
“Two…Two…” The man’s head slightly bobs around. “Two…”
“Did you give him a fucking stutter?” Reynolds airily chuckles. “Is that shit really possible?”
“Yeah,” I offhandedly reply. “Neurogenic stutterin’ caused by a traumatic brain injury is very real shit.” My gaze lingers at the male doing his best to stay conscious enough to give me the answers I’m demanding. “But that’s not the case here. He’s just strugglin’ to get enough oxygen.” There’s no delay in me leaning slightly forward. “And that struggle is about to get even worse when I break your fuckin’ nose for tryin’ to buy yourself time to lie to me.”
He stills his head and swallows his building fear. “Tw-tw-two th-th-this m-m-morning.” The captive in our custody does his best to steady his voice. “I got the details at two this morning.”
“How?”
“A…um…a…uh…dead…dead drop.”
“Where?”
“An a-a-all night gas station.” Crunchy, scratchy sounds invading his speech indicate his lung is beginning to collapse. “Outskirts. Backroad. Heading s-s-south.”
“Towards Austlandia or Dos Santos?”
“Austlandia.”
“Cameras?”
“No.”
“Secluded location. Casual cover. Hard to track,” Reynolds casually comments. “That’s smart. Real smart, Wahl.”
Too smart.
Whoever this asshole poacher is knows how to operate in the unseen.
That’s not run of the mill basic operative shit.
That’s highly trained.
Highly skilled.
Highly intelligent.
My least favorite combination for an unknown enemy to have.
“Tell me about the drop itself.”
“Envelope.” Heavy blinks are delivered as if trying to wake himself up. “Taped to uh…the um…b-b-b-back of uh…an um…off-brand cereal box. The one in the uh…way, way back.”
“Less likely to end up in the wrong hands,” my team member acknowledges. “More countermeasures.”
More proof of a pro.
“It had everything I n-n-needed with instructions to burn and flush certain items when f-f-finished...” the wavering of his words appears just before he attempts to suck in more air. “To prevent an…an…an evidence trail.”
Fingerprints can be run.
DNA checked.
Handwriting analyzed.
The love of my life does the latter, and something tells me they know that.
Whoever the fuck they are.
“It h-h-had a photo of the target. Keycard access to the gate and building. M-m-map. There was a… um…also a photo of um…you-”
“Me?” My brow pulls tightly together. “Why?”
“Instructions said to…wait until…you left to infiltrate.”
They knew this shit would never be possible with me around, which is why I should always be around.
Like now.
Wait.
What if this shit is a trap?