“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
The coordinator shrugged.
“He came through the gate.”
Preston set down his coffee.
“So can anybody, apparently.”
He descended the stairs.
Adrien had reached the loading area beside the first pier when Preston called after him.
“Hey.”
Adrien continued walking.
“Hey. You.”
Adrien stopped and turned.
Preston pointed toward three wooden crates beside a service cart.
“If you’re going toward the clubhouse, take those with you.”
Adrien looked at the crates.
Then at Preston.
“No.”
Preston blinked.
It was not the refusal itself that bothered him.
It was the absence of apology.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not event staff.”
Preston gave him a slow examination.
“You work for the marina?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly are you doing back here?”
Adrien glanced toward a security camera mounted above the loading entrance.
“Working.”
Preston laughed once.
“That clears everything up.”
Adrien began walking again.
Preston stepped in front of him.
“What’s in the case?”
“Nothing you’re authorized to access.”
That answer transformed Preston’s irritation into offense.
“Do you know whose property you’re standing on?”
“I know exactly whose property this is.”
“Then you should understand that I decide who gets access.”
Adrien looked toward the entrance gate.
“The system disagreed.”
Several workers nearby slowed down.
Preston noticed them watching.
His face tightened.
“Let me see some identification.”
“No.”
The answer was calm.
Preston moved closer.
“No?”
“You’re a private citizen.”
“I’m executive vice president of Harrington Maritime.”
“That doesn’t authorize you to inspect federal credentials.”
Preston stared at him.
Adrien’s tone had not changed.
There was no challenge in it.
No performance.
That somehow made it worse.
Preston smiled without humor.
“Federal credentials.”
Adrien said nothing.
“You hear that?” Preston called toward two employees.
One of them looked away.
“This guy walks in wearing a department-store jacket and suddenly he’s federal.”
Adrien turned toward the pier.
“Have a good morning.”
Preston caught up again.
“Driver?”
Adrien ignored him.
“Courier?”
Nothing.
“Maintenance?”
Adrien stopped beside an electronic gate controller.
He crouched and removed a small diagnostic reader from his jacket pocket.
Preston folded his arms.
“What are you doing now?”
Adrien connected the reader to an exterior access port.
The screen displayed several time stamps.
One caught his attention immediately.
04:17:32.
Gate Seven.
Administrative override.
Adrien frowned.
There should have been no administrative override.
He scrolled backward.
The credential identification field was blank.
That was impossible under the system specifications Harrington Maritime had submitted.
Every override was supposed to create a permanent log.
Adrien took a photograph.
Behind him, Preston noticed.
“What did you just photograph?”
Adrien stood.
“A security record.”
“You’re photographing our systems?”