“We give him enough rope to show us where the rest of the line goes.”
The sting operation began the following morning.
The Black agent called the number on the business card.
The finance director answered after four rings.
“Didn't think you’d call.”
She sat in a federal surveillance van wearing a hidden microphone.
“Didn't think I would either.”
“What changed?”
“Rent.”
He laughed.
“Honest.”
“You said work.”
“I have work.”
“What kind?”
“Can you drive?”
“Yes.”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“Depends what I'm being paid.”
He liked that.
The agent hated that he liked it.
“Meet me tonight.”
“Where?”
He gave the address of a commercial property outside downtown.
Old printing warehouse.
The federal team knew it.
One of the redevelopment company’s shell corporations leased the building.
The agent asked:
“Who else?”
“Why?”
“I don't walk into buildings with strangers without asking.”
The finance director laughed.
“Yesterday cops put you against a car.”
“Today you're cautious?”
“Yesterday is why.”
Good cover.
He answered:
“Two people.”
“Names?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
Silence.
The finance director had not expected refusal.
“Don't waste my time.”
“You called me useful.”
“Useful people ask fewer questions.”
“Stupid people ask none.”
The federal team inside the van exchanged glances.
The finance director laughed.
“Seven-thirty.”
Then gave two first names.
One belonged to the city code supervisor.
The other was unfamiliar.
The Black agent repeated it.
The lieutenant listening from another room looked up sharply.
She knew the name.
Retired police commander.
Former mentor to the current sergeant.
The ring was older than they realized.
That evening, the agent entered the warehouse wearing the cream-white ARMY tracksuit again.
The same outfit.
Deliberate.
If anyone had photographed her the previous day, continuity mattered.
The finance director noticed the wrist marks.
“Cops do that?”
She looked down.
“Your city’s finest.”
He smiled.
“Some of them are useful.”
She pretended not to understand.
Inside, the warehouse held folding tables, file boxes, campaign signs from old city elections, and three men.
The code supervisor.
The retired commander.
And someone the agent had not expected.
A city council aide.
Not senior enough to attract attention.
Exactly senior enough to move paperwork.
The finance director introduced none of them formally.
The retired commander looked at the Black agent for too long.
“You were on the street yesterday.”
She stared back.
“Apparently everybody knows.”
He smiled.
“Neighborhood cameras.”
The agent shrugged.
“Then you know cops aren't my favorite people.”
The retired commander laughed.
“Good.”
The finance director placed an envelope on the table.
“Simple job.”
The agent looked.
“What's inside?”
“Addresses.”
“What do you want?”
“Drive by.”
“Take pictures.”
“Who comes and goes.”
“Vehicles.”
“Anything useful.”
“For what?”
The code supervisor answered:
“Property research.”
The agent laughed.