Page 103 of His Wall

He was quiet for one second.

"Where are you?"

"Twenty-Second and Sixth."

"I am twenty minutes from you. Don't go in alone, Cal."

"I'm not going in."

"Leah."

"I am following the protocol, Rafael."

I hung up.

I sat in the car. I dialed Julian.

Voicemail.

I sat in the parked car at Twenty-Second and Sixth and I fought myself.

Every minute that passed was a minute Julian was alone in an apartment six blocks from a man who had already put a bullet into a wall three feet from his head. A man who ran cartel money and bribed federal judges and did not leave loose threads.

I dialed Harlow.

"How long."

"Thirty-two minutes."

"Patch me into the surveillance team monitoring the shell company address."

"Hold on."

A click. A second click. Another voice came on the line — male, mid-30s, the flat dispatcher cadence of a field agent on a stationary post.

"Sloan, mobile two."

"Calder. What's your status on the shell address."

"Two vehicles departed eighteen minutes ago, eastbound on Twelfth. Black SUV and a dark sedan. Two occupants in the lead vehicle, three in the trail. We're tracking via traffic cameras but we don't have visual on a destination yet."

My chest went cold.

"They're going to Cross's building. West Eleventh."

"That's not confirmed, ma'am."

"Two vehicles left a known Conrad location heading directly toward the principal's apartment and the principal isn't answering his phone."

Harlow's voice came back on.

"I hear you, Calder. I hear you. The team is moving. We are accelerating the staging. Twenty-nine minutes."

Twenty-nine minutes.

I dialed Julian.

Voicemail.