Page 80 of Surge

They entered and wound their way among the crowd in the narrow street lined with booth after booth. It felt like forever, and she had nothing, no sign of the shoes. Feeling a bit demoralized, she decided to ask around like they’d planned.

She slowed at a table that offered fresh cut-up mango coated with chili powder, cayenne, and sugar. The vendor joked with customers in broken English. She got at the end of his long line. Ten minutes later, she and Surge reached the front. He sniffed around the corner of the table, then sat, body in full alert as he stared at something.

Oh no. Not now . . .

But then she spotted a cute preschooler playing with a doll behind the table—and she wore glittery jelly shoes, a purple butterfly on each. Of course.

“Out,” she whispered to Surge. He huffed, but sniffed around the other side of the booth at the end of his lead as she looked over the menu board.

The owner wore a bright yellow shirt reading Mangga Berbumbu, the name of his booth. The owner waved. “You American, yes?”

“I am. How are you today?” She forced her nerves back down and firmed her grip on Surge’s lead, more a reflexive act than any concern he would do something.

“A good day. Sorry my English not good, but talk to tourists like you make good practice.”

She laughed. “You speak English well.”

“Thank you.” He pointed to his shirt “You want spiced mango?”

“Absolutely. That’s what I’m in line for, please.”

“Popular today,” he said, and spun around to fill a baggie with mango, then the spice mix. He shook it up and handed it to her.

She withdrew the cash Garrett had given her and handed the owner a bill. While he got her change, she took a bite. The spice heated her mouth, and the mango sweetened it. “This is remarkable!” He handed her the change, and Delaney stuffed the entire amount into his tip jar.

His smile was huge.

“Oh,” she said, putting syrup in her words, “is she your daughter?”

“Yes, yes.”

“I love her cute, glittery shoes,” Delaney said, trying to act natural. “I think my niece would love them! Can you tell me where you got them? Was it here?”

“Yes-yes—today. There, where we came in.” He pointed down the avenue, away from the marketplace entrance.

“Yay, thanks! Let’s go, Surge.”

This was undercover, but Delaney wanted to pump her arm in victory. She hadn’t lied. Nothing bad had happened. She’d scored directions to the shoe vendor.

“That was epic,” Garrett said.

Reveling in his praise, Delaney couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I’m headed to the shoe vendor now. It’s on the opposite side of the market from the entry.”

“Copy that,” Garrett said. “We’re coming around the perimeter. It’ll take us a few. Meet you there.”

She’d done it—though she was no operator nor operative. Exultant still, she did have to actually find the shoes. Locate the vendor. Sobered that this wasn’t over yet, she walked down in the direction the vendor had pointed, under string lights and streetlights that gave the place a vibrancy. Delaney eyed a booth of bright floral sarongs, another with gorgeous handmade teak bowls. She would’ve bought one or two under different circumstances—maybe later.

At first she didn’t see the shoes, but then she spotted LD3 containers sitting on the bed of a semitrailer. The container nearest the end had its rear doors sprung open, and men were selling from the back of it.

A small stream of people passed by, headed into the marketplace. A few stopped to take a look, and a couple even bought some shoes.

“I found it,” she relayed to the team. “Semi at the rear, selling from the back. Pretty busy . . .”

“Stay there,” Garrett said, his breath huffing. “We’re almost there.”

Delaney watched, worried people were buying shoes with chemicals. Her heart raced as a mother slipped shoes on her daughter. A grandmother did the same with a toddler in stroller.

“Oh, Father . . .” Delaney felt sick, thinking that those might have chemicals in the butterflies. Chest squeezing, she fought the desperate panic, so badly wanting to tell them to leave the shoes. Don’t buy them. So many doing the same, trying on the shoes.

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