Page 81 of Surge

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that the vendor sported wire-rimmed glasses and slicked-back hair.

But when he turned, she could see his face.Thank You, God.It wasn’t Tariq, whom she’d seen outside Shoemakers Extraordinaire in Singapore. He didn’t have the same long, sharp nose. Or anything else. The other man unloading shoes wore a backward baseball cap. She didn’t recognize either of them.

She shook her head. That semi had six LD3s. Six Sachaai logos.Okay, let’s just make sure . . .Delaney led Surge along the truck, and he sat. A knot formed in her stomach. Then the next LD3 container. Same. And by the last one, the knot had tightened into a hard ball.

She started looking at the few jelly shoes they had on display, all purple. Absently, she picked up one and squished the butterfly, watching the glittery swirl of gel in the toe adornment, then let her gaze track over the rest of the shoes.

Suddenly Surge planted his rear on the ground. He alerted on the shoes in her hands. Then he turned and nosed another pair of shoes.

Stomach clenched, she stared at the sandals she held, jiggling the odd-shaped butterfly. Same as Caldwell’s plastic . . . but . . . She felt it again. Yeah, each side of the butterfly’s body was hard. She played with one side a little more, then it popped open a bit. That side gap—pocket? whatever—held a vial! Same on the other side of the body too.

Surge nosed her hand, hauling in stiff draughts from it. No wonder he’d even hit on Spook’s purple plastic.

She blinked her eyes hard, put back the sandals in her hand. She knew what to do.

“These are adorable. I want some. Let me check my money,” she called over to the vendors. She waved to get their attention. They looked over and waved back, continued chatting.

She took Surge away a few feet where the men couldn’t hear her and keyed her comms. “The semi has six Sachaai LD3s,” she said. “Six, Bear. Surge hit on all of them.”

“Wow. We’re almost there. Eagle Three’s being jammed, so stay there until we can get eyes on you.”

With his words, she felt the protective barrier around her vanish. “Think they know we’re onto them?”

“Unknown. Stay there.”

She swallowed. “Will do.” She turned around and walked back to the vendors. Slowed her approach.

The men were in a panic, loading the boxes back into the last LD3.

Baseball cap guy wiped his hands down his jeans as they reached for another carton. “I can’t believe he called. We’re dead. Hethreatenedusif we sold any.”

“We didn’t sell enough for him to even notice,” the wire-rimmed guy scoffed. “Besides, he’s paying us almost nothing. We deserve a little extra.”

“He’s going to rip us apart if we’re late.” More hand-wiping.

Wire-rimmed guy shrugged. “Let’s lock up and get out of here.” The hatch of the LD3 slammed shut, and the men trotted up to the semi’s cab.

She pushed back the thought of all these kids with the contaminated shoes and how many Americans these terrorists wanted to kill with six LD3s full of chemicals. The poison could be headed anywhere nationwide, anyway. Maybe even to Dad.

Delaney’s heart picked up speed. She had to stop this shipment from going anywhere—or maybe she should go with it. Yes, came a deep knowing. If she didn’t and this got away . . . the repercussions would be large-scale lethal.

But she’d already crossed Garrett once. “They’re leaving,” she hissed. “Where are you?”

“Stay with them.” The urgency in his voice ratcheted her heart rate even higher.

How was she going to stay with them? In her crouch, she pivoted in a circle and spied a woman climbing from the back seat of a car. “There’s a Grab dropping someone off. I could catch it . . .”

A long pause. The truck pulled off.

“Snag it,” Garrett said. “Stay with them and keep us updated. We’ll track you via Surge. Right behind you.”

When the Grab started pulling away, she ran behind it, waving her hands. The driver stopped, and she jumped in with Surge, wondering what to say. Well, that boyfriend phone story had worked last time. “My boyfriend forgot his phone. He’s driving that semi up there.”

“Sure,” the driver agreed, and pulled out, following the semi.

As they merged with traffic, she had this nagging sense that her last line of defense—being close to Garrett and Zim—was gone. But they had to do this. Her concern didn’t have long to breed doubts, because they were pulling into a train depot.

The semi drew up to the long silver train with eight cars so sleek they were aerodynamic. Both the engine and the caboose were shaped like bullets.

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