Chapter 94

The area was oppressive. Overhead, low fluorescent lights pulsed, giving the piles of papers spread around my desk a chilly, clinical glare. The operation board, a disorganized patchwork of pictures, maps, and red thread joining names like Gerard Moretti, Victor Alvarez, and Ethan Monroe, took up most of the far wall.

I narrowed my eyes at Victor's portrait as I quickly tapped my pen against the surface. With his activities slipping through legal gaps with unsettling ease, the man had been untouchable for years. But that would be different tonight.

"Agent Richards." I was startled out of my reverie by Decker's words. His suit jacket was unzipped, and his tie was a little loose as he leaned against the doorway. "This is Ben Fisher."

I straightened my stance and nodded. "Bring him in."

Ben warily made his way inside the room, his eyes darting about as though he were expecting an attack. Despite wearing a well-ironed suit, his uneasiness was obvious from the strain in his shoulders.

I said, "Fisher," pointing to the chair across from me. "Thanks for coming."

With methodical moves, he sat down. "Richards, let's get this done quickly. I am not here for talk."

"Of course," I said with ease as I leaned forward. "But let's make a statement first. For months, you've been giving us clues. It's okay. I understand that you need to protect your own skin. However, this ends tonight."

Ben's mouth clenched. "What are you discussing?"

I slipped a file across the desk and opened it to show Ethan and Victor's surveillance images. Gerard's information had given us with a window. To finish a transaction, Victor and Ethan are meeting tonight. We will be present to put an end to it.

Ben's expression was unreadable as his gaze moved to the pictures. "And just what are you expecting me to do?"

"You've spent years in Ethan's inner circle. You are aware of his tendencies and weaknesses. I require proof of the time and place."

With a sharp breath, he combed through his hair. "Richards, this is the final time. I'm done after tonight. I can't keep sacrificing everything for your vengeance."

"It's not a vendetta," I yelled, raising my voice. "It's justice. You have no idea how much evil Ethan and Victor are responsible for. You'll have their blood on your hands if you leave now."

Ben's eyes became hard. "Please don't make me feel bad. Nor are you entirely innocent. After this, we're done, but I'll give you what you need."

A handwritten note with locations and a time was on the piece of paper he slid across the desk.

He stood up suddenly and shouted, "That's all I know. I wish you luck, Richards."

The night air was thick with car fumes and the smell of wet asphalt. Two blocks from the alleged meeting site, a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city, our surveillance van was parked. As my team prepared for what we expected to be a pivotal evening, the brightness of the monitors inside the van illuminated strained faces.

"Anything going on?" Leaning forward to see the grainy video from the covert cameras we had previously set up, I asked.

With his eyes fixed on the screen, Decker shook his head. "Not yet. It's been silent."

I thought, my stomach churning with pain. Too quiet. Ben Fisher's information had looked reliable: a time, coordinates, and the assurance that Victor Alvarez and Ethan Monroe would be present to complete a transaction. However, the warehouse stayed motionless as the minutes stretched into hours, interrupted only by the glow of a streetlight or the odd shadow of a stray dog.

I whispered, "Stay sharp," but I was losing faith in the process.

When we finally noticed activity, it was after midnight. Two men came out as a black car with an idle motor parked next to the side of the warehouse. They weren't Ethan or Victor.

Decker's eyelid went up. "Dealer on the street?"

I scowled as I saw the men's relaxed yet wary stances as they made their way toward the building. They vanished inside a few minutes later, only to come out a few minutes later carrying small boxes in their coats.

"What on earth is this?" Frustration began to seep into my voice as I growled.

More figures came and left over the course of the following hour, representing low-level operators trading things for cash. The pattern was clear: this was a small-scale drug business rather than a high-stakes encounter between two criminal masterminds.

Decker let out a big sigh and wiped his face. "It appears we've been duped."

By 2:00 a.m., it became clear that we would not be seeing Victor or Ethan. The metal of the van vibrated when I banged my hand against its side.

I said in a hurried voice, "Pack it up. What a waste of time this was."

With tired and disappointed looks on their faces, the team started to disassemble the equipment. The only sounds coming from the van were the gentle hum of the monitors and the rustle of wires.

Decker coiled a piece of wire and looked at me. "Do you think Ben was aware that this was a hoax?"

The question bothered me, so I paused. "He's burned if he did. Later, I'll deal with him."

The drive back to the workplace seemed to go on forever. As I looked out the window at the deserted streets, the city illuminated by icy streetlights, my mind swirled. Why had this lead turned out to be a dead end when Gerard Moretti's intelligence had previously led us in the right direction? Was the deception intentional?

My jaw was clenched so tightly that it hurt by the time we arrived at the office. I stayed in the briefing room, looking at the operation board, as the crew quickly scattered, ready to move on from the disaster.

Victor's sneer mocked my failure as his face looked back at me. Ethan's picture was pinned close, his face unintelligible. Suddenly, it felt like my attempts were being ridiculed by the red strings that linked their identities to other crimes.

The quiet was broken by Decker's footfall.

He answered in a somber tone, "Richards, you know the brass is going to want answers."

With the anticipated confrontation weighing heavy on my shoulders, I nodded. "Let them shout. I'll handle the heat."

Decker looked at me doubtfully. "This wasn't the end, but it was a bad hit. We'll get back together."

I looked at him, my anger leaking out. "What are you rebuilding with, Decker? It turned out the tip we pursued-street traders selling dime bags-was a waste of time, money, and credibility. We have to start over."

He didn't reply, his look unreadable. After a time, he turned and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Back at my desk, I slid into my chair and looked at my phone, deciding whether to call Ben. Part of me wanted answers-needed them. However, I also knew that addressing him now would just make me more irate, even if he had purposefully given us false information.

I would have to tell my bosses why we had squandered our resources chasing shadows after Victor had deceived us. Even worse, I would have to figure out how to restore the credibility of the remainder of our study.