“Oh, I think he’s dirty as hell. The man is a complete fuckwad.”
Ethan stopped typing. “Wait, I’m confused. Riley was almost killed by an accident you don’t think was an accident, and you think her dad is involved.”
“Yes.”
“Is Riley your woman?”
“She is.” Talon nodded even though Ethan couldn’t see him.
“And she’s okay with you digging dirt on her dad?”
“She will be when I have proof. The relationship is all on her side. Like I said, he’s a fucker of the highest order. I know it’s hard to understand a father that’s a total bastard?—”
“Ah, no, not really.” Ethan cleared his throat. “Okay, so you want to find out if someone is complicit in an ‘accident’ at the mining site in the Sahel.”
“I want proof that the person we suspect is working with Harlan,” Talon told him everything he had on Mauro Delgado and Vincent Harrow. "Anyway to connect them to Harlan? Riley needs something solid she can drop on the board. Facts, actionable facts.”
Ethan murmured his understanding as he typed. “Hey, there’s a shareholder meeting at Shoemaker in twenty-four hours. She’d blow him out of the water if she presented evidence there.”
“I couldn’t get her back to the States in time.”
“Who said anything about that? I can get her wired into the meeting, and no amount of interference would stop that stream. She could nuke him. Burn him to the ground.”
“I’d need irrefutable proof.” He rubbed his forehead. He wanted her father to be burned to ashes. Anyone who treated their daughter like a burden and expendable was well deserving of being nuked.
“You want solid?” Ethan’s tone sharpened. “Give me sixty seconds.”
In Talon’s ear, there was the faint background hum of servers and the occasional electronic chirp behind the rapid tapping of Ethan’s keyboard. “I hate that you left Guardian,” Talon said. “Money shouldn’t have been an issue. I wish you’d stayed with us.”
There was the briefest hitch in Ethan’s typing before he answered. “Dude, I have enough money. Iwanted a quieter life. Not everyone is cut out for the high-speed life of a Guardian.” Another pause. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still help my friends, though. God knows Guardian taught me how to get in and out without being seen.”
Data began pouring in. Ethan narrated the information as if he were reading a classified file.
“First, your chief of logistics. His name’s Conrad Bains. He’s a former Royal Navy supply officer. Fired for misappropriation of materials, but the record’s sealed in the UK. Harlan hired him six months later.”
“Figures,” Talon muttered.
Ethan continued, “Bank transfers. Ah, dude, look at that. Small, frequent, and deliberately routed through mining equipment suppliers in Namibia. The invoices are for industrial drills, loaders, and transport containers. Cross referencing the serials? Those items were never delivered. The payments end up in an account in Belize controlled by Shoemaker Mineral Holdings.”
“That’s good,” Talon said. “That’s damn good.”
“Always follow the money. I’m sure with more than a casual glance I can find more.” Ethan clicked away for a moment. “Oh, look at that. It gets better,” Ethan said, and Talon could hear him grinning. “Satellite imagery from two nights ago shows unmarked cargo being loaded into flatbeds at the Burundu mining site. Infrared scans indicate heavy shielding.”
“Shielding? Why? And how do you know that?”
“Ah, are you sure you really want to know what system I’m in now?”
Talon shook his head. “Nope, disregard the question.”
“Disregarded. The why is that the shielding is likely to block radiation detection. The barrels are sitting at the loading bay at the logistics building. I can tell you I know that because I’m on a friendly nation’s satellite now. None of ours are in a good position to take a look-see at the moment.”
“Damn, how did Guardian let you slip through their fingers? What’s the destination for those barrels?” Talon asked.
“Hold, please.” Ethan’s fingers tapped in a rapid staccato. “Unknown, right now, but, dude, you won’t believe what I found. Seems some IT hot jock decided encrypted emails were the way to stop a hacker. What an idiot. Fucking child’s play.”
“What did you find?”
“Oh, man, the internal chatter is hot once you crack the sixteen-digit encryption. Shoemaker’sexecutive VP of operations, Maxwell Grayson, and regional security head, Idris M’Baye, are both in the loop. They’re discussing ‘expedited transfer of high-value units before the quarterly audit.’ That’s corporate-speak for skimming the good stuff before anyone notices. Oh, hey, they mention Riley. Fuckers are laughing at her accident. Wishing it had done more than scare her. Aww. Son of a bitch …”
