Chapter 6

6

CORE, SINGAPORE

So much for that. Standing across from the park Garrett had green-lighted, Delaney shifted Surge's lead from one hand to the other. A small traffic jam had built up behind a black-and-gold beer truck that had a spill, split-open cases and broken glass littering the street. No way could she take him through that.

Two Pakistanis in fluorescent brewery T-shirts moved to the back of the semi and pulled shovels out. They joined a couple of law enforcement officers, who were already scraping the asphalt to collect the muddle and throw the glass into a nearby dumpster. Drivers waited outside their vehicles, playing with phones.

Delaney and Surge walked up the street, passing the line of traffic, the silver semi stuck right behind the beer truck and the culprit truck itself. They crossed the street in front of the mess and headed to the park.

Surge sniffed every stick, rock, pole, and bench that existed before finally hiking a leg to take care of business. She spied a small area hemmed in by shrub and thought it a great place to let him chase his KONG. He seemed to read her body language as much as she read his, because he spun a circle around her, tail going a hundred miles an hour. He had his priorities.

She led him to the area, relieved to find a chain-link fence closed in on three sides. She dug into her hoodie pocket for the rope KONG and sent it sailing through the air.

Surge darted after it and snagged it off the ground. He trotted around, then slowed, the KONG dangling from his mouth, his attention locked on the men cleaning up the mess.

"Bring it, Surge," she said, keeping her voice calm and steady, doing her best to keep emotion out of it and draw him back to her before he bolted away.

He sidestepped toward her, his eyes not leaving the men.

She took the KONG and bounced it between her hands, but his attention had locked on the men again. In full alert, he wasn't deterred.

What was Surge seeing?

She knew better than to let him focus on that. "Let's play, Surge," she said, twirling the KONG.

Except the Mal wasn't breaking focus. He'd been trained not to let any distraction divert him when he detected something. She clipped the lead to him before he bolted off to investigate for himself. Time to head back to the warehouse. Garrett had warned her not to go far and to be back in fifteen minutes. She headed back that route, but it unfortunately took them right past the accident again.

They passed the car behind the silver semi, and one of the two men stopped working to wipe his brow.

"Hurry up," the other said in English with a heavy Pakistani Urdu accent. "Hakim's waiting for us."

Hakim!

Delaney's heart charged into her throat. "Surge, with me," she said softly and led him behind the car. She peeked around the car at the guy in the cream shirt and black jeans.

Oh no. That was Rashid—the bald guy with the trim beard who'd passed behind her after the meetup. Her gaze shifted to the guy with the wire-rimmed glasses, who fit Caldwell's description of Tariq, the Sachaai chemist—red shirt, slicked-back hair. He frowned at Rashid but went to work with his shovel. Why on earth would these two be doing cleanup?

That didn't matter—what did was that they were here.

She had to tell Garrett. She hustled Surge quietly down the street, staying behind cars in the traffic jam. Touched her comms piece. "Eagle One, this is Cerberus One."

Nothing. She frowned and pressed it again—this time felt a small spark sizzle against her ear. She tugged it out and drew the coiled cord so she could see it. Wiped it. Tried it again, only this time, there was a distinct emptiness to the communication channel.

Of course! Augh! What was she going to do now?

The SAT phone. She snatched it out and went for the power button. But Garrett had ordered them to keep the phones powered off during the mission. Unless it was an emergency. Which this definitely was, right?

Scraping of the shovels fell silent, creating a gaping, ominous void in the noisy city.

Delaney spun around and eyed the crew—they were done, tossing shovels in the back.

What on earth? She caught a glimpse of the interior—silver containers with purple stylish S emblems, crammed full. Given those box labels, they were certainly full of chem vials like the boxes in the warehouse. Were the glass bottles they'd been cleaning up just cover? Either way, it was clear this was more boxes from the warehouse. The team hadn't found all of them.

Rashid and Tariq closed the back doors with a clang. Dark eyes looked straight at her.

Delaney sucked in a breath and ducked behind a car, praying he hadn't seen her.

When she braved a look, she found them climbing into the cab.

Frantic, she fumbled with the phone, trying fast to get Garrett.

Shoot. The truck engine revved to life.

She had no idea where they were going, and she couldn't alert Garrett in time.

"With me, Surge." With him at her side, she crouched behind another car.

The semi axle groaned and squeaked as it lurched away.

Surge whined.

"I know. They're leaving!" she whispered.

Americans would die if these silver half-containers made it to the US. Given those box labels, they were certainly full of chem vials with Sachaai lipids, like the boxes in the warehouse.

No time for prayer.

Her eyes caught a taxi stand half a block down. "C'mon, Surge." They took off running. This was her chance.

She stopped at the cab, opened the back door, and climbed in the back. She patted the seat next to her and Surge jumped in. "Follow that silver semi. Quick. Please."

The man with thick blue glasses and a stubby nose turned in his seat. "Not with that big black monster dog. Get out of my cab."

"But—"

"No! Out! Get that mutt out of my cab."

"He won't hurt anything."

" Out !"

She bit the inside of her cheek to avoid what she wanted to say. "Let's go, Surge." He jumped out, and she joined him on the sidewalk.

The cab left, practically squealing his tires.

Surge nosed her hand. Yeah, now what?

A young twenty-something with a man bun jogged up to her. "You need a ride? I was waiting for the traffic to clear when I saw that guy throw you out. If you need a ride, I'm a Grab driver. I'll take you and your beautiful dog. My car's right there." He pointed at a metallic blue Hyundai. It boasted a Grab logo sticker, like an American Uber sticker. But that Hyundai was rather rusty.

What choice was there? Garrett would kill her either way, but at least she might be able to help make sure thousands of Americans wouldn't die. "Thanks. I need to follow that silver semi, please." The traffic was easing up. The semi was just under three blocks down the road and had a left turn signal on.

He gazed at her, one eye closed.

C'mon, kid. I need Rashid. She didn't say it; she put on a smile. Her brain dug for a good reason, then she patted her pocket. "My boyfriend is driving that semi," she said, hating the lie. "He left his phone behind."

He grinned. "No wonder you don't just text the driver. I got ya." He jogged to his car, and she and Surge piled into the back, barely closing the door before the kid zipped around cars and turned left where the silver semi had.

There it was, a couple blocks ahead. Thanks, dude.

She needed to text Garrett.

Delaney

In a Grab rideshare. With Surge. Following a semi full of boxes with the Sachaai logo. Follow his tracker. Please.

The kid was—thankfully—driving like crazy trying to catch up with the semi, which was headed for Hakim.

She clutched the grab handle with her right hand, and with her other, she rubbed between Surge's shoulders, where his tracker was inserted.

Her breath hitched as her phone blinked.

Network issue. Text message not delivered.

She hit send again.

The same network issue message came down.

God, please get Garrett to us. Fast. And don't let him kill me.

No "if" or "make him come" to her prayer, because she didn't hope that Garrett would follow—she trusted he already was.

* * *

"Two floors of shoe production," Garrett commented to Zim as they stood at the stairwell, looking back at the pallets of shoeboxes lining the walls and rows of sewing machines in the center that they'd already swept.

"One more floor. Let's see more empty shoe factory," Zim said.

He lifted his Sig and climbed the stairs, his thoughts bouncing to the MWD team. Had it been fifteen mikes yet?

Zim whistled low when they reached the third level. "We got a chem lab to sweep, Boss."

Garrett took a left as they stole around the room, meeting in the middle. Clear, thank God. "Confirm." If they'd found someone in this stainless steel chemistry wonderland, it would've gotten complicated.

As he looked at the microscopes, Bunsen burners, deep metal sinks, three tall tables and stools, computers, refrigeration, Zim practically drooled.

This lab was a few levels up from his high school chemistry class. A lot of levels up. He keyed his comms. "Cerberus One, return to base."

No answer.

"Eagle Actual to Cerberus One. Come in."

"Boss. You need to see this."

Nerves tight, Garrett joined Zim at the fridge with the glass door. His eyes blinked fast. Dangerous was an understatement. Then he caught sight of the pile of folders on the desk next to the fridge. Thumbed through them. "Big names here. And this is one high-end computer."

Zim joined him. "No kidding. Fahmi Ansari—Hakim's dad."

"We definitely need to take a look at these and the computer. They'll lead us to them."

"We're only stopping the chemical weapon. Not the Sachaai people."

Garrett's jaw jerked. He longed for justice for Samwise. But without official support from the government and local authorities, their hands were tied. They had to stay within the scope of this op.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again. He knew what his mission was. The people the chemicals were meant to poison. "Take the computer. We'll get it back to Caldwell to do his thing on it." His shoulders wanted to rise up by his ears, but he kept them down. "Still haven't heard from Delaney."

Zim play-punched him in the arm. "Maybe she's already on her way up."

He stepped over to the table in front of the window and looked down into the park across the street from this lab, shoe factory, warehouse place.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the message and his curse seared the air.

Eyes wide, Zim glanced up.

"She's in a rideshare tracking a truck she spotted. Said it's Sachaai." He started for the door. "Grab the computer. Let's go!"

They sprinted down to the SUV loaded with evidence and climbed in. "Eagle Three," he said to Caldwell, "get me tied into Surge's tracker."

"Already on it."

Garrett whipped out, wanting to reach through the comms and make it happen.

"Here we go," Caldwell said. "Fastest route is second right, then west for a klick."

Garrett gunned it, heart racing.

A few moments later, Caldwell came back on the comms. "Okay, I've researched the Grab—she's in a—whoa, left turn ahead. Seventy meters, bank right onto Tanglin Road and head south for two klicks."

"Copy!" Garrett gritted his teeth. "I'm going to kill her."

Zim side-eyed him.

"Well, she did give you the way to find her, and if she hadn't tracked them?—"

"Intel, Caldwell. I don't need your therapy sessions."

"Apparently you do." The spook snickered, then cleared his throat. "Grab shows this rideshare is a metallic blue Hyundai sedan. Annnd from what I can tell from the satellite relay I'm hijacking—shh, don't tell—she does look to be following a semi a couple blocks ahead."

"Semi info," Garrett demanded.

"Unlabeled. No plates, but when you hit Alexandra Road and head east, you won't be far behind them."

What was Rogue doing? "Find her! Facial recognition on the driver."

"You're less than a klick from her. Traveling east now. Fast."

Garrett scowled. "You're overwatch—how did you miss that she left the site?"

"Same as you, I guess," Caldwell threw back.

He zipped around a gray sedan. "I'm not seeing her."

But then a burst of blue in the array of drab vehicles caught his attention.

Delaney was in over her head.