Page 69 of Surge

When the guard walked past on the other side of the container, Garrett prayed the guy didn’t detect the team. If Surge started panting . . .

But the guy kept walking that direction, deeper among the containers, farther from the office.

An idea sparked in Garrett’s brain—if the Sachaai had loaded the chem vials into another shipping container, where was it headed? There was definitely a mole . . . and he wanted to see if it was Caldwell.

But he had no proof . . . yet.

He shifted and slid over to Zim. “I’m going to slip into the office and find the cargo manifest. Take a picture.”

“I can do it—that’s what I’m here for.”

“This is on me.” His phone would take pictures well enough, and he was done trusting others to get the job done and having it backfire. “Give me four mikes, max.”

He sneaked around and up to the door of the office, jimmied it open, and crept into the room. After verifying there were no cameras, he slid his back against the wall and straightened. Scanned the space. A single table held a paper tray loaded with perfectly straightened paperwork. He picked up the top packet of papers and used his torch to illuminate the text. Riffled through the pages, bills of lading, invoices, and . . . “Here we go.” A cargo manifest with today’s date. Hakim’s name.

Bingo.

Garrett drew out his phone and snapped a picture. He put the manifest back upside down on top of the paper tray as it had been. Then he dropped the roaming guard’s ID on the floor, shut the door, and slipped out. He was nearly across the street when he saw the security guard returning.

Hitting the ground, he rolled himself into the shadow of the container stack. He lay still, barely allowing himself to breathe as he eyed the guard booking up the stairs as his phone trilled. The guard answered, strolling right past Garrett.

Once the office door clicked shut, Garrett checked the area, saw the guard settle in, then hustled and crept to the container stack the team was behind. At his signal, they fell in behind him, and he led them out of the cargo yard and to the SUV.

Caldwell met them at the door when they arrived at the safe house.

Garrett had four words for him. “We need to talk.”

Caldwell rolled his eyes. “Now what?”

Garrett jerked his head toward Zim and Delaney, who’d followed him into the kitchen. He held out the pic of the shipping manifest on his phone as Delaney and Zim flanked him.

Bemused, Caldwell scanned it, lifted his hands in the air.

Garrett seethed. His voice croaked. He pointed the phone at Caldwell. “You went silent on comms.”

“I had technical difficulties. Signal went?—”

“Not only did you withhold the fact that unfriendlies were waiting in the combi plane yesterday, today you bailed on us and forced us to operate without up-to-date intel,andyou withheld info from this shipping manifest.”

Caldwell’s jaw dropped. “I already told you the signal dropped. The building manager’s Sachaai tattoo, the Sachaai waiting to attack—I didn’t know.”

“It’s all about you not sharing full intel. Djibouti. Burma. Now here.”

The spook jabbed a finger in his face. “Those situations weren’t me.”

Garrett’s heart pounded in his ears. Sure, Caldwell’s bosses had cleared his name. But somehow, in some way, every shortfall of intel on their past few missions was associated with this man. And now—Garrett lunged. Caught Caldwell’s collar. “I’m sick of you putting me and my team in danger!”

Face cherry red, Caldwell clawed at his hand, but Garrett tightened his hold. “I’m done with you. Done trusting you. Done?—”

“Bear.” The whisper of a cool breeze preceded Delaney’s hand landing gently on his arm. Her voice was barely audible. “Don’t do this.”

Garrett looked down at the spook . . . who was gasping for air.What am I doing?Choking the man? He released the guy, stepped back. Too far, Walker. The spook deserved to be called on the carpet, but not this. He forced himself to turn back to Caldwell. “Sorry.”

Looking like he’d chewed on a lemon, Caldwell straightened his collar. “Fine. Fine as frog hair.”

Garrett pointed at the floor. “Stay,” he ordered. He strode toward the front yard.

Delaney stood. “I’ll come with?—”

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