Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Then I did what I should have done when goddamned Ronald Gillen first suggested this.
I got the hell out of there and took care of business.
3
JETT
“He’s clean,” Trevi said as I walked into the conference room a few days later.
“Who?” I sipped the coffee I’d picked up on the walk in this morning. It always took forever for it to get cool enough for me, despite this being one of the coldest Octobers on record in Manhattan.
“J. Locke Maris. The guy whose phone you cloned? Big shipping exec? Nothing in it except basic work shit and a few texts with family, friends, and lovers.”
My ears perked up. “Lovers?”
Trevi shrugged. “I mean, there are a few texts arranging dates with a few rich ladies, but he’s boring as fuck, honestly. Seems like a workaholic. Which makes no sense, considering he’s a trust fund baby.”
I nodded, unsurprised. That tracked with the man I’d encountered that night at the Candy Bar. The man who’d been determined to stay rigidly in control, even while I was half-naked and gyrating on top of him.
It also tracked with what I’d found online later. While I was… ah, researching someone associated with an op. As a diligent intelligence agent does.
Locke Maris was one of those rich, powerful people who often got written up in gossip blogs. “Famous for being famous,” as my uncle Derek would say.
Sure enough, photo after photo showed the sexy Maris heir dressed to the nines with a model-beautiful woman on his arm, shaking hands with other high-powered executives in boardrooms, or playing golf at exclusive resorts. In every single shot, his face was tense and unsmiling, like he couldn’t wait to get back to his spreadsheets.
And fair enough, I supposed. Maris Holdings was a massive conglomerate managing shipping lanes, satellite tracking, and data analytics for global trade, and he would run the whole thing someday. Those were probably some pretty important spreadsheets.
None of that explained why he’d come to a gentleman’s club for a conversation with Ronald Gillen, though.
The good news was, I’d managed to clone Ronald’s phone later that night when he’d gone to the men’s room and the damned thing had fallen out of his pocket onto his chair. I’d rolled my eyes hard at how much effort I’d gone to, only to succeed through dumb luck.
“What about Gillen’s phone?” I asked Trevi.
He grinned. “Oh, there was all kinds of shit in his. Names, dates, transactions. What a dumbass. None of it connected to Maris, though, that I could find.”
Before he could tell me more, our boss and a few other support staff came in.
Rocky’s long blonde hair was pulled up in its usual twist, and the high heels paired with today’s dark suit were black with red polka dots. Though ESP agents could wear whatever we wanted as long as we were professional from the waist up for Zoom calls with the Feebs and CIA higher-ups, Rocky only ever let loose with her footwear.
“Good work, everyone. Thanks to Agent Marian here, we now have the names of three longshoremen suspected of moving the drugs off the Meridian Bell before customs inspection. The FBI’s picking the suspects up for questioning and pulling surveillance for the dates and times of transactions noted in Gillen’s phone.”
“And Gillen?” Trevi asked.
Rocky shrugged. “It seems Gillen didn’t know the precise nature of the contraband shipment, though he accepted money in exchange for looking the other way while the longshoremen had unauthorized access to the container. They’ve decided to leave him in play, just in case he can prove helpful again.”
Even a year and a half into this job, part of me still expected someone to protest. Gillen might not be the biggest fish in the criminal pool, but he was undoubtedly a criminal.
ESP’s job was to gather information, though. Deciding what to do with that information was outside our purview.
Rocky finished up a few last points, then thanked everyone again before moving on.
“Alright, next up is something that just came in this morning. We’ve been tasked with sending an agent to Nome, Alaska, to check out credible evidence of suspicious drone activity at a remote outpost. Last summer, a joint research exercise was aborted when it became clear it was a cover for unauthorized surveillance. We need to determine if this drone activity is related.”
Her eyes met mine, and she gave me an apologetic wince. “Sorry, Jett. I know the last thing any of us wants is to go somewhere colder than here, but a female agent would stand out too much on this one, and you’re closest to being able to grow out a scruffy beard.” Her eyes flicked to another agent in the room. “No offense, Thompson.”
Thompson’s baby face turned pink while Trevi elbowed him and snickered. “Don’t worry, boo. You’re next up on the college ops.”