Reading on, she saw that a tip had later come in that the intruders were using a Virginia safe house, but after another team had been dispatched to check, it turned out that though someone had been at the house, he or she or they were no longer there.
She put the file aside and buzzed David. “These reports are all from this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re sure none of these came in yesterday.”
“No, ma’am. They were all from this morning.”
“Get me Stone at O & O.” Gregory Stone was O & O’s managing director, and the biggest pain in the ass of the bunch.
Thirty seconds later, David called. “I have Mr. Stone for you.”
As soon as he hung up, Stone was on the line.
“Gregory, what the hell is going on over there?” Helen asked.
“Good morning to you, too, Helen.”
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”
“I just read the report about the apartment break-in yesterday. The one where one of your men got his fingers blown off? How come I’m just hearing about this now?”
“Let me pull up the info,” Stone said, sounding as if he were doing her a big favor. She could hear him typing. “I have it here. The client requested temporary retention of the information.”
This was another of O & O’s annoying business practices. Some clients had been granted right-of-retention privileges they could invoke anytime they felt it necessary. When that happened, no one but the client would receive updates for the first twelve to twenty-four hours, depending on the operation. Helen had already sent a directive rescinding the rule, but apparently Stone had ignored it.
“I don’t care what the client requested. The retention rule is no longer valid and you know it.”
“This is a grandfathered client. Our hands were tied.”
She bit back a response, knowing things could spiral into a tangential conversation that would distract her from finding out more about what had happened at Peter’s place. After giving herself a moment to calm down, she opened the O & O client database and said, “Who’s the client?”
“Is there something specific you’re trying to find out? Maybe I could—”
“Yes. I specifically want to know who the client is.”
“If you’re unhappy with how things are—”
“Dammit, Gregory! Give me the code!”
Stone read her the client code.
Helen typed it in and the client name popped onto her screen almost instantly.
DARVOT CONSULTING
Is this some kind of joke? she thought, staring at her screen.
Darvot was as gray an organization as one could get. More than a few stories had circulated through the legitimate intelligence community about the lengths Kyle Morten, president and CEO of Darvot, and his dog Griffin would go to in helping their clients. Unfortunately, they were good at covering their tracks so it was all rumor, but Helen knew they were dirty, and Helen hated dirty.
She’d thought she’d seen it all from O & O, but this had to be the biggest example of the organization’s incompetence. No proper agency would even answer Darvot’s phone calls, and here O & O was doing potential wet work for them.
Dear God.
“Helen?” Stone said. “Helen, are you still there?”
She needed to dig into this properly so that none of it blew up in her or her superiors’ faces. She bit back the riot act she wanted to read him and said, “I’ll call you back.”
CHAPTER 13
The address turned out to be for a place called Wysocki Self-Storage in a mixed-use neighborhood. The facility consisted of several two-story buildings, some with roll-up doors along the outside, and some that Quinn guessed were entered through hallways running down the middle of the structures. There was a small office located right on the corner, with a counter inside where two employees were assisting customers.
Quinn pulled out his phone and looked at the instructions that had accompanied the address. The first two items read:
1. Bldg 6
2. 72591
He took a second look at the storage place. Painted on the side of each building was a number. The one directly across from where they were parked was labeled 2, and the building next to it 3.
“Around the corner,” he said.
Howard pulled away from the curb. As they turned, the sides of three more buildings came into view. Number 4 was first, then 5, and finally 6.
Quinn pointed at a spot opposite 6. “Park there.”
Howard did as instructed.
Like the other buildings that made up Wysocki Self-Storage, number 6 had an access door off the street, with a small square box mounted on the wall next to it.
“Steve, stay here and keep an eye on that door.” He nodded across the street at 6’s entrance. “If anyone other than us goes through it, call.”
“Got it,” Howard said.
“Daeng, Misty, let’s go.”
The square box by the door was exactly what Quinn had expected — a security keypad. He consulted his phone again, and tapped in 7-2-5-9-1.
When he heard the buzz of the lock releasing, he pulled the door open. The inside also turned out to be what he’d thought — a wide hallway traveling the length of the building, lined with equally spaced doors. Behind each would be a storage locker.
“Which one?” Misty asked.
Quinn checked the photo.
3. 6-117
He looked up. The door on the right was marked 6-130, and on the left 6-129.
“Should be down about halfway. We’re looking for one seventeen.”
They found the unit just shy of the middle. The door was secured by a padlock, with six side-by-side tumblers on the bottom where the combination would be input.
4. 318037
Quinn thumbed the numbers into place and pulled, thinking the door should now be unlocked. But instead of the shackle disengaging from the body, a portion of the lock’s outer skin slid open, exposing a surface of black glass. He immediately knew what it was.
“Place your thumb on it,” Quinn told Misty.
She hesitantly pressed her thumb against the surface.
There was a thunk from inside the door.
Quinn pulled the lock again. Though the lock remained fastened, the whole door and frame swung out an inch. He pulled until the opening was wide enough for them to get a look inside.
The locker space was underutilized — about a dozen boxes stacked toward the back and that was it. Peter could have easily gotten away with a locker a quarter of the size. Hanging in the middle of the room was a light fixture, but Quinn didn’t see any way to turn it on.
“What’s the next instruction?” Misty asked.
“The combo for the lock was the last one,” Quinn said.
She looked around dubiously. “So this is what he wanted us to find?”
“Apparently.”
While Daeng remained in the hallway, Quinn and Misty moved into the locker to see what was in the boxes.
The first three they opened were full of books and old magazines.
“My God, do you think there’s something hidden in one of these?” Misty asked. “That’ll take us forever to go through.”
“Let’s check all the boxes first, then we can decide what to do next.”
Most of those remaining also held books, while the last few contained Tupperware containers, plastic cups, and disposable plates.
“I don’t get it,” Misty said after they finished. “Why would he want us to come here? This is all garbage.”