“I’ll hold you to it.”
“My word is gold.” I lean in. “And the captain did share something interesting you should know.”
“Did he now?” is his casual reply. But he’s listening, intently.
“Just remember I tipped you off. If you can return the favor—”
“Anything you want.”
I frown, thinking this is too easy. And he did lie to me before. But the CIA should be alerted about the mines in Africa before enriched uranium replaces drugs in illegal trafficking. “I’m going to hold you to it,” I murmur.
“Of course you are. Natural born ballbuster, that’s what I say. Well, go on. What’s the story now?”
I take a deep breath. “The captain didn’t confirm this directly. But the uranium onboard likely came from a mine in Africa. The captain said the mine is a very lucrative business and there are plans of expanding production.”
His eyes narrow. Despite his casual manner, he’s not the sort you piss off. Not without consequences. “Africa is a massive continent. Where specifically are we talking about?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t say.”
“Not much help, are you?”
With a quick smile, I stand and retrieve the notes I’d made. I give them to him while I search for a paper and pen so he can copy the information. His eyes light up as he records the Ogdenhayer name. I finally settled back in my seat, slightly unnerved by how quiet he is.
“Alarming, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Your agency will send a team to locate the mine? Determine how expansive their business is then shut it down?” I stop and bite my lip. He seems so calm about this. Underreacting, like he’s intentionally keeping himself from showing his surprise.
He sits there and doesn’t answer.
I don’t know why I need reassurance. Acting on instinct alone, I reach over and place my hand on top of his. “Your boss will pursue this, right?” He stiffens beneath me.
“He should be pleased you were tipped off. Or do you make a habit of pissing him off, like you’ve done with the captain?” The screeching woman at the tortilla stand ... the way he did his worst then promptly escorted me to the door ... I’d say him pissing people off is a common occurrence.
“For a smart individual, you ask too many questions.”
“I’m a journalist, it’s what I do.”
He makes a noise in his throat. “Do me a favor, will you? Don’t go running yer mouth about the mine. Not until I give you the go-ahead. My boss likes to do things on his own ... terms.”
“I promise to wait awhile. Discovering who’s purchased the cargo is more urgent at this point. But my summary will include the uranium mine production. How can it not?”
“I’ll be sure to give you a ring once the investigation is settled.”
“A ring?” I frown.
“Telephone. Offer up some details for you to include in the story.”
Wait. A. Minute. “And where will I be in this scenario?”
He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s meant as a challenge rather than a sign of mutual camaraderie. “You can’t stop me from pursuing this story.”
“Think not?”
Furious, I scramble to my feet. Looking down at him—the intimidated becoming the intimidator. “Try me,” I snap. Jesus, I tipped him off and now this?
“Don’t be that way.” Words meant to console but said in such a smug way, I feel like giving his chair a shove in the hopes of knocking him off his high perch. God, I’d love to see him grovel, though something tells me the barbarian has never begged for anything in his life.
