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Me: I heard you’re busy all day but call me as soon as you can.
Meanwhile, the hours of driving give me a chance to catch up on emails and calls. Unfortunately, I can barely concentrate. By the time I get a view of the Potomac River and the DC monuments in the distance, my body is buzzing. When we arrive at the airport terminal, I shoot out of the SUV like a cannonball.
Louis and I are shepherded to the supervisor’s office. Dale Sigfried is a middle-aged man with plumes of white hair and the ire of a disgruntled government official. I don’t envy him his job.
“You must have friends in high places. What agency are you from again?” he asks after we present our IDs.
“This is official business we’re conducting with the executive offices. Give Angel Lu a call if you need confirmation,” I state curtly.
He shrugs and sighs. “Got better things to do. We’ll have to record the interview, however,” he says, looking at us suspiciously. That’s hardly a problem for me. If I need the footage erased, doing so virtually is a walk in the park.
“Absolutely. If you don’t mind directing us to Mr. Wolfson, this is a pressing matter.” Unlike my galloping heart, my voice is steady.
He grumbles, “No one ever tells me anything.”
We’re brought to a dark and narrow room with a one-way mirror. Lysander is a tall man in a wrinkled button-down shirt and jeans. He has his hands in his hair while looking at the table. Heaven help him, he better have answers.
Louis and I enter and sit across from the miserable man.
“Hi, Mr. Wolfson. My name is Louis—”
“Why were you having Anastasia Petrov followed?” I interrupt Louis, who is an ex-cop and never fully shed the formality of procedure.
Fuck procedure, which was never drilled into me the same way. I’m just a guy who owns a security agency built to prove myself to one woman. That woman is endangered because of this asshole in front of me.
“Twenty-five,” I say.
“What’s twenty-five?” he says, squinting.
“That’s the number of years you can be imprisoned for knowingly counterfeiting an authorized document prescribed for regulation entry in the United States.”
“That’s not true,” he bursts indignantly. I don’t miss the lilt of doubt in his voice.
“It is, if we tag the offense as facilitating an act of international terrorism.” Whatever it takes, asshole. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
“What the hell are you talking about? I have rights. Who do you think you are, threatening me! I work at—”
“Why were you having Anastasia Petrov followed?” I interrupt.
“I won’t talk until I get a lawyer.”
“Wrong answer.”
I’m about to motivate him to give better answers—by motivate I mean threaten—when my phone pings. So does Louis’s.
Kina: She’s on the move. Heading to the dock to visit the assembly floor. Should we detain?
Every minute of Ana’s schedule is tracked in real time. Goddamn, I don’t need this right now. My first instinct is to have her tied to a chair till I come home. Haven’t I drilled into Ana all the ways changing her schedule is a breach of protocol?
Me: Did she give a reason? There’s no time to call Ana now. Not when I’m dying to get some answers from the man in front of me.
Kina: Something about rallying her staff before the board of directors tour next week. She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.
Ana is a hands-on boss, as much as her time allows, so we prepared for this. Kina and Jake have studied the blueprints and watched footage of the construction halls, testing facilities, and assembly areas. All places in the shipyard Ana would regularly visit, had I not been keeping her in the office.
Me: Both of you stay close. Anything looks out of place, get her out.
It’s an unnecessary reminder since that’s basically been their job for weeks now. Still, it makes me feel good to text the words.
