Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Service Stacks
Dante lowered his six-foot-two frame once more, sinking onto his heels beside the corner of the desk until he was at eye level with the child.
The scent of cherry syrup and clean cotton drifted between them, cutting through the bitter smell of rain and cigar smoke that usually haunted the office. Across the room, Marissa held her breath, her fingers digging so deep into the leather of her purse that her knuckles turned white.
"Sophie," Dante said, his voice dropping into that deep, rhythmic baritone that was softer than velvet. "Tell me about the gray man."
Sophie took the lollipop from her mouth, holding it carefully by the stick, her small face turning serious. She looked around the vast, shadow-drenched office, her eyes lingering for a second on the heavy double oak doors leading to the private corridor.
"He doesn't want people to know," she whispered.
Dante’s eyes narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter. "Know what, little bird?"
"He comes when the cleaning carts are on the floor," Sophie explained, her small voice earnest and unhurried. "Yesterday, Mommy was helping Mrs. Gable on the tenth floor with the curtains. I was sitting on the stairs by the big metal door. The gray-coat man was standing in the corner by the telephone on the wall."
Dante looked up at Vincent.
Vincent immediately tapped his tablet, his brow furrowing as he pulled up the architectural schematics of the service stairs between floors ten and twelve. "There's a junction box for the internal analog telecommunications lines behind the riser on ten. It’s an unmonitored hardline."
Dante looked back at Sophie. "Did he see you?"
"No," Sophie said, shaking her curls. "I was hiding behind the big blue laundry bin. He had the box open with the little wires. He had the little black machine with the blinking green lights. Like the one on your desk."
A cold, electric shock traveled through the room.
Dante’s jaw set like an iron vice.
An analog line tap.
Someone was not just stealing files from Archive 1204; they were tapping the direct, encrypted voice lines that ran between this penthouse office and the family’s safe houses in the Catskills. For three weeks, two of Dante’s logistical convoys had been intercepted by rival hijacking teams in New Jersey. His captains had blamed federal wiretaps. Dante had suspected an informant in his inner circle.
The informant wasn't in his inner circle.
The informant was a technician walking through the front lobby in a gray coat, using the trust’s administrative codes to access the nervous system of the hotel.
Vincent’s face had gone from serious to completely pale. "Boss... if he's tapping the analog junction on ten, he knows the schedule for the Albany transport tonight. He knows the route."
Dante did not stand up. He kept his eyes locked on Sophie, his gaze gentle, steady, shielding her from the sudden, violent tension vibrating through the men around her.
"What else did he do, Sophie?" Dante asked softly.
Sophie took a small lick of her lollipop, her hazel eyes thoughtful. "He had a telephone in his hand. Not the hotel phone. A little black one that opened like a book. He was talking to someone who had a loud voice."
Dante’s voice remained as smooth as polished stone. "Did he say a name?"
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Sophie paused. Her small eyebrows knit together as she searched her memory, trying to recall the exact sounds she had heard while sitting behind the laundry cart.
"He said the man in the car was ready," she whispered. "And then he said..."
