We’re all silent on the drive to Staten Island. My mind keeps going back to Savvy and hoping she’s safe. Then I chastise myself for losing focus on an assignment. Finally, Stevens pulls up a couple of blocks away from the waterfront and parks.
“The building we will be working out of is a block over.” Stevens opens the door and gets out.
Durango and I get out and meet her at the trunk. She opens it and pulls out a duffel bag.
“Whoever gave you this tip isn’t from New York,” I say.
Stevens glances around. “Why do you say that?”
“And I can tell you aren’t from here, either,” I add. “Because this is Staten Island. The person would have said that if they were from here.”
Stevens stares at me. “Staten Island is New York.”
We grab our bags and close the trunk.
“I’m not saying it isn’t. It’s just a person would have been more specific,” I say.
Stevens is already walking down the street, so we follow her. She makes her way to the back door andunlocks it. We all enter. It appears to be an abandoned office that was gutted a while ago. It smells musty, and there is a thick layer of dust on the tables lining the wall.
“That warehouse there is the one we are watching,” Stevens says as she points out the front window to a warehouse across the street.
“It has seen better days,” Durango says.
He’s not wrong. The roof has a tarp over part of it, and there is graffiti all over the front.
A car pulls up across the street. We all step away from view but keep monitoring the activity.
“What are the chances we got this lucky so fast?” Durango asks.
A young man gets out of the car, carrying two pizza boxes. An older man meets him outside and takes the boxes from him. Then the young guy drives away.
“Nope. Just pizza delivery,” I say.
“Yes, but we got to see Robert.” Stevens holds up her phone, showing us a photo of the man, and it matches who we watched grab the food.
“Good. We know he’s there. But for all we know, he might be sending the guns somewhere via the water and we won’t see anything from here,” Durango says.
He’s right. We are facing the street side of this warehouse and not the ocean side.
She unzips the duffel bag. “I mentioned there was another investigation. We had two agents following a trail of guns used in a variety of crimes throughout the northeast. They all trace back here to a man everyone calls Artemis.”
“Have you found the guy?” I ask.
She pulls out binoculars and holds them out. Durango takes them.
“No. It’s an alias. We know little about him, which is why I was happy when this tip came in. It might finally connect the dots.” She hands me a second pair of binoculars.
“You think Robert is Artemis?” Durango asks.
“It’s possible, although we suspect it’s a nickname for someone much more connected to all the players,” Stevens says.
We spend the rest of the day surveilling the warehouse. There are no deliveries or even visits. After it gets dark, a man steps out from the side of the building.
“That’s him,” Stevens says.
“Bob Kuffel,” I say.
Stevens frowns at me.
