Patriot by M.A. Rothman (macos ebook reader txt) 📕

or something. No sane people would ship their dirty stuff through the docks with all the extra security going on right now. Just a bunch of contracted dickheads.”

Mohammad gave the man a hard look, wondering if the man was speaking directly to him or if he was simply speaking in generalities. There were many people involved with this operation, but Mohammad had made sure that none of them had been privy to the details. Had someone slipped and said something they weren’t supposed to?

Mohammad would have to keep a close eye on this man.

Chapter Twenty-One

Annie adjusted her position on the motorcycle’s padded seat, arching her back to work some of the tension out of her stiff muscles. The bike was her passion, but there were times when it wasn’t operationally sound. Of course, Thompson and Richards had told her this repeatedly, and she always ignored them. But on days like today, she almost wished she’d decided to bring the Audi instead.

She’d stopped in the parking lot of a diner two miles from the Decklin Bros warehouse, where they imported olive oil and shipped it out to restaurants all up and down the East Coast. From the clues she’d overheard in Wagner’s conversation with the mysterious woman, it hadn’t been that hard to work out where to go. This was the only olive oil importer of any size within a hundred miles of Baltimore. Hell, it was the only one in the entire state.

Her helmet hanging from the handlebars, she watched the live video feeds on her smart-glasses. An Outfit drone, orbiting a few thousand feet above the warehouse, had multiple ultra-high-definition cameras capturing everything from security guards to delivery drivers to someone just walking in to work—the owner, she guessed, since they’d driven a Ferrari to the place.

And older-model one, maybe a 308 GTS. A nice choice. Annie had always been a Magnum, PI fan, mostly due to the red Ferrari Selleck had tooled around in.

“There, stop. Zoom in there,” Annie said. “Camera Two.”

“Got it,” the technician on the other end of the line said. Tom—she’d forgotten his last name—was one of the better drone pilots the Outfit had. He was able to multitask, and he put up with her antics more than the others did. She knew it was only because he wanted to get in her pants—and maybe she’d even allow that to happen one day—but she didn’t care for his reasons, as long as he did his job.

The image in her glasses enlarged, showing Wagner walking across the back lot with what looked like a supervisor. The supervisor was pointing to a row of semi trailers parked along the back fence line.

“Do you have audio?” Annie asked.

“Yeah, one sec.”

Annie could hear Tom’s keyboard clicking in the background as he worked. She’d been extremely annoyed at every clack when she first began working with him, but now the sound was almost comforting. There was a level of competence behind those clacks.

“There.”

Sound from the drone’s directional long-range microphone came through Annie’s earpiece. It was slightly distorted, due both to the distance and the background noise the microphone couldn’t scrub out.

“… they’re all ready to roll,” the supervisor was saying. He spoke English with a slight German accent. Italian car, Italian product, German accent. That struck Annie as odd. “All we need to do is load them up and we’ll be good to go. We’re waiting on Sam to get here with the other packages. You’re sure the pick-up locations are clear?”

Wagner answered him in broken English. “I assume, yes. But I don’t know for sure. I’m only knowing this part, so…”

The supervisor nodded. “I understand.”

“Your drivers, they are reliable, yes?”

“As reliable as our own people, if not more so,” the supervisor said, putting his hands on his hips. One hand held a clipboard. The camera wasn’t quite able to read the attached papers, but it was close. “They will get the loads to their destinations just fine.”

“Good.”

“As far as payment…”

Wagner waved a dismissive hand through the air. “I don’t handle payments, that’s Ericka. I am only doing the logistics.”

“So level with me,” the supervisor said, leaning close to Wagner and speaking in a hushed tone. “Why does he need twenty? Are you really going to need that many loads? That doesn’t seem a little excessive to you?”

“It’s not our place to make these assumptions. Müller does what he thinks is best. That’s good enough for me. Now, which are leaving today?”

The supervisor checked his clipboard and ran a finger down a list. “Three, eight and ten.” He pointed to each trailer in turn. “They aren’t loaded up yet, but they will be within the hour. We just have to finish prepping the pallets.”

“And each truck gets three pallets of the stuff?” Wagner asked.

“That’s right. One partial, two full.”

“Good. As long we are on schedule now and can stay on schedule, we’ll have no problem.”

“I don’t see any reason why we’d have any hiccups.”

“Stay on top of it.” Wagner pointed a finger at the supervisor. “I don’t want to have to come back here and correct the issue.”

“There won’t be any problems. I run a tight ship here. I don’t know the last time Mr. Zucker even came down to the floor.”

“Well, keep it that way.”

“It’s a wonder you have any friends at all,” Annie said aloud. But at least he was an equal opportunity asshole. There was something to be said for that. After all, that mirrored Annie’s own outlook on life.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Connor pulled the soft, knitted fabric of his kufi, the traditional Muslim head cap, down lower onto the back of his head. He wore a simple navy-blue thobe—a gown-like garment—over khaki pants. Instead of sandals, however, he wore simple brown shoes. Sandals weren’t conducive to running. If for some reason he needed to move quickly, he didn’t want to worry about losing a shoe.

He craned his neck to look out at the passing skyscrapers. He’d been to the city several times before, and