Page 29 of Surge

Garrett scanned the pots and the menus plastered to the interior walls of the truck, the lone lighted sign casting a strange orange glow over him. “Would you pick chicken clay pot rice or Chinese sausage with rice?”

“Chicken,” the guy responded, giving the prearranged answer.

Garrett eyed the twenty-something. “I’ll take the sausage, I think.”

Andre shrugged as they stepped to the counter.

“For your help, I’ll pay.” Garrett stood at the counter with the contact and pulled out five Singapore dollars. “One chicken, one sausage,” he told the vendor.

At his left, Andre placed his hand on the counter, then removed it.

There lay a small baggie with the lipids—ten blue and ten yellow—which Garrett palmed. Tucked in his pocket.

Amid the sizzle of chicken and sausage being cooked, Andre spoke quietly. “Rashid will have your order by tomorrow.”

Garrett kept his face blank. Give Surge a sniff of these, and he’d meet Rashid much sooner. Unlikely he’d get anything out of this punk, but he’d try. “Where did he get these?”

Andre shrugged. “He just told me to bring the sample.”

The vendor piled two boxes of food on the counter and stared at them, waiting for them to leave so he could get to his next customers.

Garrett took his and banked away from the stand. “Package secured,” he comm’d. Didn’t matter what Andre didn’t know. Surge’s nose would know. He ducked into a side alley and pivoted back, eyeballing the punk as he returned to the law building. “Overwatch, we know anything about that building?”

“It’s legit,” Caldwell said. “No connection to Hakim or the chems that we can find.”

“Watch the building,” he stated and headed to rendezvous with Thompson and Surge.

“Already on it,” the spook said, a little irritation in his words. “Contact just exited the front of the building.”

“Cerberus One and Two, en route to your position.”

“Copy that,” Zim reported. “We have you in sight.”

Streetlights glowed brighter here, where the street vendors and businesses didn’t dampen their power. A dull ache in his shoulder reminded Garrett of sparring with Thompson. He’d never tell her, but that chop she’d delivered to his shoulder had left a little bruise. She was stronger than he’d expected. And she had worked with SEALs to help specialize their combat assault dogs. She might have a lot of attitude, but the girl clearly knew her stuff.

He slipped into the small alley. Steady panting drew him to the right, where he found the trio, blending well into the shadows.

“You have them?” Zim asked.

Garrett showed them the baggie and eyed Thompson. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Nerves quavered in her answer, but her shoulders were squared, and she seemed to draw up her courage as she looked at Surge, who was on all fours. “We both are.”

Garrett mentally patted the weapon holstered at his back and the one in his ankle holster. He eyed the bulge in the pocket of Delaney’s green denim jacket. “Ninety degrees and you’re wearing a jacket—it could stand out. But let me guess. KONG?”

“Of course.”

Garrett passed the sample packet to her. “The vials.” He swung around and aimed toward the street again. “He went back into the law building, so that’s probably the best place to start. I’ll let you take the lead and trail you, so we aren’t obvious.”

“As planned.” She flashed him a nervous smile and another nod.

Surge’s golden eyes went from eager to intense, his tail whipping the air. He sniffed the vials a couple seconds and lay down, ears forward, staring at them.

The tubes definitely had Sachaai lipids.

“Okay, handsome,” she said and strode out of the alley. They made their way back to the street market and the truck vendor. Delaney took her time, like a pro, eyeing the shops, letting Surge do his thing.

The MWD stuck his nose in the air, turned a half circle, and paused. He loped the few feet to Garrett and lay down, his black ears pointed at him.

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