Page 25 of Code Name: Grit

“Bad news?” she asked, reading my expression.

“Dragon has identified FBI corruption at the section-chief level,” I said, watching her eyes widen.

She nodded, processing the information. “I know you disagree, but I still think we should return to the docks today. Gather as much intel as we can before the shipment arrives.”

“You’re right.”

While she remained stunned, she didn’t ask about my abrupt change in opinion.

The driveto the terminal was quiet. Checking for tails had become innate in my years in intelligence, thus I immediately picked up on a black sedan that maintained a consistent distance for a few blocks before turning off. I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t pick up on another one or spot them again.

“Thoughts on our approach today?” Lumi asked as Red Hook came into view.

“We document everything we can about the eastern cargo section. If O’Roarke questions our focus, we justify it with legitimate security concerns.”

“And if we encounter Belcastro’s people?”

“Maintain cover but get out if it seems like it’s been blown.”

“Copy that,” she said, turning to stare out the window.

The terminal bustledwith more activity than on the previous day. Two additional security guards stood at the checkpoint, examining credentials with greater scrutiny.

“Increase in armed guards,” Lumi murmured as we approached. “But they’re not watching us specifically.”

O’Roarke met us at the entrance to the main building. “I trust you found everything you needed yesterday?”

“Your facility has numerous strengths,” I said, falling into character. “Today, we’ll focus on integrating our findings into a comprehensive assessment.”

“Excellent,” he said, the word lacking conviction as his eyes darted around. “I have meetings this morning, but my office is at your disposal.”

After he walked away, I leaned closer to Lumi. “Did you catch that? He’s nervous.”

“The sweat at his temples, the way his gaze wouldn’t meet yours directly. He knows something’s about to go down.”

The eastern cargo section was alive with activity—freight handlers moving containers, forklifts transporting pallets, terminal personnel conducting additional checks.

“Belcastro presence has tripled since yesterday,” I said under my breath as we rounded a stack of containers. I recognized a guard from our surveillance photos—one of Marco Venutti’s men.

“Look there,” she whispered, subtly nodding toward two men in suits examining a tablet. “The one on the left is Anthony Rizzano—he runs the Belcastro protection rackets in the Bronx. The other is Paulo Ferretti, who oversees their gambling operations in Queens.”

When we reached the high-security container area, I noticed additional electronic locks had been installed overnight.

“That’s a military-grade system,” I said, checking out the mechanism.

Lumi made notes on her tablet. “Let’s take another look at the camera blind spots we identified yesterday.”

We moved to the southern edge of the container array, where a gap in surveillance coverage created a vulnerability. The narrow passage between containers offered privacy.

Lumi turned to face me, her body inches from mine in the confined space. “Someone’s watching us,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “Black jacket, near the forklift.”

I moved closer, bracing one hand against the container behind her. From the outside, it would appear we were in an in-depth and perhaps intimate conversation.

“Who’s he with?” I asked, my voice low.

She shook her head. “Terminal security. He’s not watching us specifically—he’s monitoring everyone.”

My free hand moved to her waist. “We should move.”

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