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“How so?”
I sit at full attention in the vain hope that somehow straightening my spine will wake me up.
“Well, multiple times, we’ve gone to Craig, trying to interrupt his plans at key moments,” she says. “And he’s always been several steps ahead of us.
“Which got me thinking. What if we don’t chase Craig? What if Craig chases us?”
I raise my eyebrows, letting her know that I’m listening.
“And how would you propose we do that?” I ask. “To be clear, what you’re proposing sounds like a trap.”
“So we know that our thief isn’t above petty crimes to get what he wants,” Sloane says. “He’s stolen product from us before, and he’ll do it again.”
I scratch my chin.
“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”
“Ehh… sounds risky.”
“What I’m proposing is that we create a fake shipment, guard it, and try to lure out our culprit that way. If we have enough guards around, they’ll be compelled to think it’s the real deal.”
“And we just what? Leave our real shipment unguarded?”
She shakes her head.
“Not completely unguarded, no,” she says. “Just not guarded enough that it gets noticed.”
I think about it a bit.
The fact is that we can’t jeopardize this tech being compromised.
On the other hand, if we wait too long, we won’t know who the thief is in time for the conference.
“I like my plan better. Less risk involved.”
“Is there really less risk in playing it safe though?” she asks. “Isn’t it more dangerous to sit on our thumbs and try the same failing tactics over and over again?”
Minute by minute, we go back and forth, debating each other. The more time wears on though, the more tired I become, and the more I start to realize that her plan might be the only way to go.
I want to curl up with her under a blanket and fall asleep in the office. I want all of this to be over and done with so that I can have my sanity and security back.
“Very well,” I say finally, as I think I hear the morning coffee being turned on in the office. “I guess we’re going to try it your way.”
CHAPTER 24
Sloane
“Oh, God. I smell like oil.”
I pat down my clothes as though touching myself will somehow erase the stench. I watch from behind a dumpster, staring at the ground underneath my feet where I’ve practically worn a path into the cement.
The whir and chatter of semi trucks fill the air, each truck entering and leaving the dock as casually as any other day. But with trained focus, I can still see, hear, and smell everything as though it were right in front of me.
Coming in from the east, I can smell the full glory of a pig farm wafting in from somewhere in the countryside. I try with all of my might to not inhale.
“Hey, Bill,” one of the guards asks in the distance. He stands perfectly still at the far end of the receiving area. “Do you know why they moved us?”
He addresses another guard, who absentmindedly scrolls through his phone. If this were the best Tarek had to offer, I might be skeptical. But there’s a legion of guards here watching along the walls where laborers toil and unload merchandise.
