Page 35 of Deep Cover

They tested every door and found them all unlocked. At the end of the hall, they located one that wasn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Caryssa slipped the key into the lock and twisted it.

It opened, and she let out the breath in a rush.

Rorke positioned himself beside her, weapon ready. The thermal sweep had come up empty, but he clearly wasn’t taking that as a guarantee.

“Ahh.” She turned in a semicircle. The dead man’s private office.

They started searching the space in a methodical sweep. Desk first. Drawers. The laptop sitting dead center on the desk in invitation.

She pulled it and set it aside to take with them. From her short time on base, she’d seen O at the computer more than anyone else. She didn’t know his exact role, but she guessed he was their tech expert. She’d give him the laptops once they were back on base.

They rifled through file folders and took them all, but she quickly scanned them for an invoice for a PO box or anything connected to Antonio’s Ristorante.

On first glance, it was just invoices and delivery manifests, the predictable paper trail of a business owner who was either very ordinary or very good at looking ordinary.

Her phone buzzed, and her gaze flew to Rorke’s.

At his nod, she answered it. Cannon’s terse voice filled her ear. “Give me your status.”

“We’re in.” She pitched her voice low though they were alone. “Nothing to report yet.”

“Keep searching and bring back everything you can carry.”

“Copy.” She pocketed her phone again, swinging toward Rorke just as he thumped a panel behind the desk with his fist.

“Hear that?” he asked and thumped again, producing a noise somewhat thicker than the last.

“Hollow,” they said at the same time.

Rorke ran his hand along the panel and pressed a fingertip into a spot. It popped open.

Excited, Caryssa crowded beside him. They were staring at a safe tucked behind the false panel. It didn’t have a key slot, just a keypad glowing faint green in the shadows.

“Look for the code.” She was already twisting to check under the desk, running her fingers along the underside for anything taped down. “People write codes down. Look for a sticky note in the bottom of a drawer or taped under something.”

After ten minutes of searching every surface and object in the room, they came up empty.

She met Rorke’s eyes. “What now?”

“We need Rome.” He was already pulling out his phone.

Rome picked up on the second ring. The video connected a beat later, and his face filled the small screen. He looked mildly amused at being summoned. “What’d you two break?”

“Nothing yet.” Rorke angled the phone toward the safe. “Keypad. Six digits. No luck finding a written code.”

“All right.” Rome’s tone shifted, all business now. “Pan the room for me. Slow.”

Rorke swept the phone’s camera across the office, from the desk to the bookshelf and a framed certificate from some association.

Rome’s voice cut through. “Stop. Back up.”

He backed the camera up to a photo on the shelf. A wedding photo of a younger version of the dead man, grinning with his arm around a woman in white.

“O,” Rome called off-screen, “pull up Bill’s marriage record. I need an anniversary date.”

After a short pause, O’s voice projected into the room, distant but clear. “Give me thirty more seconds… Got it. June eleventh, nineteen ninety-four.”