helper hopped inside and tied them down. In total, the load had a street value of close to two and half mil. Was that the last of Abdul Baseer al Jahni’s dope? Or did Pete have more? Was that what was in the renovated silo? The guys had checked out the warehouse. Eddie even brought her drug-sniffing dog through. It wasn’t being stored above ground.
The driver lowered the hatch, sealing away the Trojan compartment. Pete checked his papers, then the driver pulled the truck out through the rear overhead door. Pete told one of the guys to lock the warehouse down. He and Max walked outside. Five guys rolled out with the truck, acting as escort. Two of them would ride ahead on the route, keeping an eye out for problems. Others were posted along the truck’s route. At no point would the truck be out of Pete’s eyes.
“Impressive,” Max admitted. “But you know, despite the oil reservoirs, a drug-sniffing dog could still scent that junk. That’s a huge shipment to risk being confiscated.”
Pete waved a hand, dismissing his concerns. “It’s a game of odds. This is their third run in the last two months. I could send out smaller shipments more frequently, but that increases my exposure. These two drivers are entirely loyal to me.”
“No one is fully loyal.”
“Even you?”
“Even me. I live for myself. Fortunately for you, my life here is exactly what I want.”
“Well, those two know the dangers. If they get caught, they know I will take care of their family, generously, the entire time they’re in prison…as long as they don’t point the finger back here. And if they fail to deliver the entire shipment, the cost will be the lives of those they love.” Pete grinned. “Leverage is my friend.”
Max locked his jaw. He wondered how loyal the two drivers would remain when they couldn’t remember what colors looked like or how sunshine felt after only a month in the hole. “Where do they go from here?” he asked, forcing the words from his mouth as he fought to cover his reaction.
Pete looked at him. Max kept his expression masked, as if it was only an idle interest from a new club officer. “To a processing center, where it gets cut down and packaged.”
Max nodded. “Well, if we’re done here, I’m gonna have the guys stand down.”
Pete hit him on the back. “You did good tonight. I’m going to be talking to King shortly. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about your percentage.”
Max texted the WKB guys to stand down. He was halfway to the clubhouse when Greer’s voice came over his comm unit. “Hold your positions and maintain radio silence. You’ve got company out there.”
“Who is it?” Kit asked. “Have they been made?”
“They’re kids. Fang’s phantom boys. And no, our guys haven’t been seen yet, from what I can tell.”
Max pivoted, heading toward the boys’ bunker. “I’ll check it out at my end.”
“Wait. They’re moving,” Greer reported. “Looks like they’re pulling out. Jesus. Fang was right. They’re like ghosts.”
* * *
Max crossed the compound’s grounds to the Quonset hut where the boys bunked. The whole back area of the compound was dark, from the bike garage on. He walked into their unlit building. Narrow cots lined both sides of the steel hull, beds made with regimented perfection. Between the beds were simple pine desks stacked high with books.
He went past the big bathroom to the room at the end of the building. The pedophile, Holbrook, had bunked there. Someone else occupied the space now. The room spanned the end of the building, allowing space for an office and bunk area. The Spartan furnishings had to have come straight out of an army surplus. The steel fixtures looked skeletal in the big room.
Something drew his attention outside. Not a sound, exactly. More a shift in energy, like a storm that suddenly became silent and still. He looked through a window. A dozen boys in black hoodies stood outside, watching the window where he stood.
The driver lowered the hatch, sealing away the Trojan compartment. Pete checked his papers, then the driver pulled the truck out through the rear overhead door. Pete told one of the guys to lock the warehouse down. He and Max walked outside. Five guys rolled out with the truck, acting as escort. Two of them would ride ahead on the route, keeping an eye out for problems. Others were posted along the truck’s route. At no point would the truck be out of Pete’s eyes.
“Impressive,” Max admitted. “But you know, despite the oil reservoirs, a drug-sniffing dog could still scent that junk. That’s a huge shipment to risk being confiscated.”
Pete waved a hand, dismissing his concerns. “It’s a game of odds. This is their third run in the last two months. I could send out smaller shipments more frequently, but that increases my exposure. These two drivers are entirely loyal to me.”
“No one is fully loyal.”
“Even you?”
“Even me. I live for myself. Fortunately for you, my life here is exactly what I want.”
“Well, those two know the dangers. If they get caught, they know I will take care of their family, generously, the entire time they’re in prison…as long as they don’t point the finger back here. And if they fail to deliver the entire shipment, the cost will be the lives of those they love.” Pete grinned. “Leverage is my friend.”
Max locked his jaw. He wondered how loyal the two drivers would remain when they couldn’t remember what colors looked like or how sunshine felt after only a month in the hole. “Where do they go from here?” he asked, forcing the words from his mouth as he fought to cover his reaction.
Pete looked at him. Max kept his expression masked, as if it was only an idle interest from a new club officer. “To a processing center, where it gets cut down and packaged.”
Max nodded. “Well, if we’re done here, I’m gonna have the guys stand down.”
Pete hit him on the back. “You did good tonight. I’m going to be talking to King shortly. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about your percentage.”
Max texted the WKB guys to stand down. He was halfway to the clubhouse when Greer’s voice came over his comm unit. “Hold your positions and maintain radio silence. You’ve got company out there.”
“Who is it?” Kit asked. “Have they been made?”
“They’re kids. Fang’s phantom boys. And no, our guys haven’t been seen yet, from what I can tell.”
Max pivoted, heading toward the boys’ bunker. “I’ll check it out at my end.”
“Wait. They’re moving,” Greer reported. “Looks like they’re pulling out. Jesus. Fang was right. They’re like ghosts.”
* * *
Max crossed the compound’s grounds to the Quonset hut where the boys bunked. The whole back area of the compound was dark, from the bike garage on. He walked into their unlit building. Narrow cots lined both sides of the steel hull, beds made with regimented perfection. Between the beds were simple pine desks stacked high with books.
He went past the big bathroom to the room at the end of the building. The pedophile, Holbrook, had bunked there. Someone else occupied the space now. The room spanned the end of the building, allowing space for an office and bunk area. The Spartan furnishings had to have come straight out of an army surplus. The steel fixtures looked skeletal in the big room.
Something drew his attention outside. Not a sound, exactly. More a shift in energy, like a storm that suddenly became silent and still. He looked through a window. A dozen boys in black hoodies stood outside, watching the window where he stood.
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