I didn’t go back to the warehouse.
Too obvious.
Instead, I cut through the industrial strip, ducked under a chain-link fence, and holed up in an abandoned auto shop with a view of the I-5 on-ramp.
Rain hammered the roof.
The drive sat on a workbench, still in the Faraday bag.
I plugged it into a burner laptop.
Files exploded across the screen.
Vector maps.
Site locations.
Extraction schedules.
Names.
Hundreds of names.
Ije’s was at the top.
Under it: Safe Points.
Seattle.
Portland.
Vancouver B.C.
Each with a status: Active, Pending, Compromised.
One name made me pause.
Rhea Sato.
Status: Asset.
Location: Harborview ER.
Extraction: Pending.
I knew that name.
She’d treated me once, after a bike crash.
Sharp eyes.
Dark humor.
No patience for bullshit.
AVG had her marked.
I closed the laptop.
Outside, tires screeched.
Headlights swept the shop windows.
I grabbed the drive and slipped out the back.
Two SUVs idled at the curb.
Men in black stepped out, radios crackling.
“Target sighted.
East alley.”
I ran.
Bullets sparked off the brick behind me.
I vaulted a dumpster, hit the street, and disappeared into the rain.
They’d find the shop.
They’d find the laptop.
And they’d know I had the drive.
By morning, Ije would issue a burn notice.
My name would be on every list.
Good.
Let her come.
I was done hiding.