"Site manager is sixty-five years old and has worked here for twenty years. I don't see him being involved. The others?" She shrugs. "I've been here thirteen months. Long enough to knowwho drinks too much and who's sleeping with who, but not long enough to guarantee anyone's clean."
"I'll need to interview all of them."
"Already set up meetings for this afternoon. Told them it's a routine security review." She pulls out a second stack of files. "I also mapped the facility access points. Places where someone could bring people in without triggering cameras or checkpoints."
She spreads a hand-drawn map across the desk. The mining compound is marked with meticulous detail. Buildings, equipment yards, perimeter fencing, camera locations, and most importantly, gaps in coverage.
"Here, here, and here." She points to three locations on the northern perimeter. "Old service roads that used to connect to the mining operations before they shut down the north pit. No cameras. No regular patrols. Just chain-link fence that's been cut and rewired at least a dozen times."
"You checked them personally?"
"This morning before you arrived. Found tire tracks at all three locations. Recent. Within the last week."
I study the map. The service roads all connect to wilderness trails that match the routes I found marked at yesterday's trafficking camp. Someone's been moving people in and out of this facility using paths that avoid any official security.
And Harlow figured it out in less than twelve hours.
"You're good at this," I say.
"It's what I was trained for."
"Crisis negotiation doesn't usually include facility security analysis."
"No. But the FBI trains you to see patterns. To understand how criminal operations work. Trafficking networks use the same infrastructure principles whether they're moving peoplethrough Chicago or Alaska." She pauses. "And I worked a few trafficking cases before I transferred to Crisis Negotiation."
Her voice goes careful on that last part. Controlled. There's history there she's not sharing.
I don't push. Not yet.
"I want to check those access points myself," I say. "See if there's any evidence beyond tire tracks."
"I can show you."
We take her truck. Four-wheel drive, well-maintained, equipped with emergency supplies that suggest someone who understands Alaska winters. She drives like she knows the roads. Confident but not reckless.
The cab smells faintly of stale coffee. A tactical flashlight sits in the cup holder. First aid kit visible behind the seats. Everything positioned for quick access. She's thought through emergency scenarios, prepared for them. Like someone who's been in situations where preparation meant survival.
The first access point is a mile from the main compound. Old service road barely visible through overgrown brush. She parks and we walk the rest of the way on foot.
Our footsteps are nearly silent in the fresh snow, barely audible over the wind moving through the spruce. My breath fogs in the cold. Harlow moves quietly beside me, economically, like someone trained to minimize noise and maximize awareness.
The fence has been cut professionally. Wire cutters, clean edges, then rewired to look intact from a distance. Beyond it, tire tracks in frozen mud. Recent enough that the treads are still sharp.
I crouch beside the tracks. "Commercial vehicle. Probably a van or small truck."
"Same as the other two locations. Someone's been running regular trips through here."
I pull out my phone, take photos of the tracks and the fence line. Document everything. Then I notice a scrap of fabric caught on the fence wire. Dark blue. Synthetic.
I bag it carefully. "Might be nothing. Might be from a worker's jacket."
"Or from a victim." Harlow's voice is quiet. "People moving through tight spaces in the dark snag clothing all the time."
She says it like she knows. Like she's seen it before.
I seal the evidence bag and hand it to her to log. Our fingers brush. Brief. Her hands are steady despite the cold. No gloves. Like she needs to feel everything directly.
"You told me you worked trafficking cases," I say. Not a question.
