Page 64 of Tater
Brick was across the room, rebuilding a carburetor that didn’t need rebuilding. Eagle sat near the door, cleaning his pistol slow, the way men did when they didn’t want to think.
Tater read the message twice before speaking. “She’s found them.”
Brick looked up. “Found who?”
“The Ghost Runners Sac and Junior flagged. Sanchez’s freight on I-84. She’s tailing a lead.”
Eagle’s brows drew together. “Alone?”
Tater didn’t answer right away. He scrolled through the old codes Sac had set up, tapped out a short return message—Eyesup. Copy Golden gate. Check in.—and hit send. The little icon spun, then went dead gray. No delivery confirmation.
Eagle stood. “No signal?”
“None.”
Brick wiped his hands on a rag. “You tellin’ me she’s out there alone in cartel country with a dead feed?”
“I’m tellin’ you she’s Ren,” Tater said quietly. “And she doesn’t wait for permission.”
He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. Smoke from the ashtray curled toward the ceiling like a ghost of last night’s war.
“Sac still online?” Eagle asked.
Tater nodded, pulled up the secure line, and hit call. The screen blinked, fuzzed, then filled with Sac’s tired face and a cheap motel lamp behind him.
“Tater,” Sac said, voice rough. “You look like hell.”
“Got a message from Ren. She’s on I-84, near Golden gate. Said she’s following a lead on Ghost Runners—human freight.”
Sac swore under his breath. “That’s not a town. That’s a route code. Old cartel slang. Used to mark border shipments before they started running west. You’re tellin’ me she’s ridin’ into that?”
“Already did.”
Sac scrubbed his face with both hands. “Jesus. Sanchez is running bodies now? That means the freight’s live. No stopping it without heat.”
Tater’s jaw set. “We’ve been stopping worse without it.”
Sac looked up, meeting his eyes through the screen. “Then you better move, brother. Because if she’s found their convoy, she ain’t chasing it long. Those Ghost Runners don’t slow for anyone.”
The connection stuttered, broke into static.
“Sac?” Tater barked.
Nothing.
Brick cursed. “Damn it.”
Eagle grabbed the tablet from the desk, pulled up Sac’s live GPS grid. “Feed’s dying. Looks like a blackout. Could be weather.”
Tater shook his head. “Could be a jammer.”
“Cartel tech?”
He nodded. “Same as they used in Utah. Sanchez is cutting signals before they move loads. If Ren’s in that radius, she’s dark until she’s out or dead.”
The room went still.
Tater pushed back from the table, grabbed his cut, and started toward the door.
