Page 47 of Code Name: Harbor

Then we can worry about what we might be together.

CHAPTER 12

Josie

I’m late getting into the office but no one really cares in the ordinary course of business. I sometimes put in upward of sixty-plus hours a week, as do most of the other agents, so we have freedom to come and go as we please. It’s Malik’s way of hands-off managing, which somehow makes people want to work harder. But because of everything going on, I had sent a text to Malik I was running a bit late so as not to worry him.

I come in through the garage entrance, using the retinal scanner to gain entry. I usually wear business attire into the office but after showering at my house, with the information rolling through my head that Finn gave me over breakfast, I decided that I needed to dress for comfort. I put on my favorite worn, soft denim jeans in a boyfriend cut that hang loose and baggy on me. I have on a University of Washington sweatshirt and my hair in a loose topknot. I went without my contacts today and opted for my lightweight, wire-rimmed frames.

Caroline looks up from her workstation as I pass by, blinking in surprise at my attire. “Someone’s getting ready to buckle down,” she calls out.

I glance over my shoulder at her and wink. “You know me well.”

At my desk, I turn on my computer and pull out the notes I jotted down from this morning. It’s only a few pieces of information, but I know I can expand it into something meaty.

BOB comes up on three screens at once, the center monitor serving as the operations dashboard. The left holds the working files and the right is the query window where I’ll start building my trail.

My goal today is to fabricate an analytical history of a source that doesn’t exist.

I take a breath and begin.

The Karpov lead is the cleanest because BOB can plausibly get to it with the gentlest of nudges. He’s been running vessel patterns for a handful of days now, so that’s where I’ll start.

The vessels are real and observable. Some are registered through three layers of shell companies, but trails usually go opaque after that. Without a specific name to look for, BOB’s job is to grind through the universe of plausible candidates and surface the most likely.

I narrow the universe with a lead from Finn by adding a filter against the population of Vancouver-area corporations registered in the seafood import sector. I specifically seek those that have had any direct or indirect transit interaction with the vessel patterns in the last twenty months.

BOB returns forty-seven companies.

I run a second filter against the financial signatures of those forty-seven companies looking at things like sudden capital expansions or anomalous wire transfers.

BOB returns nine companies.

I run a third filter cross-referencing the principals of those nine companies against the bureau’s existing watch list of persons connected to Voronin’s network through third-party associations.

BOB returns three.

Karpov Maritime Imports, Limited, is on the list.

I sit back, pick up a pen from my desk, and tap it on my thigh as I think.

The BOB query history will, if anyone walks it backward, look exactly like the work an analyst does when she’s running a pattern and the pattern produces a result. The history won’t show that I knew the result before I ran the query.

It’s a moment of profound dishonesty and it’s shameful to me that I’m keeping the source of this information from my employer. But I can’t put Finn at risk, and not just because I promised him I wouldn’t.

I already care for him far too much for me to ever think about hurting him.

I open a new working file and consider the warehouse Finn told me about. This one is going to be harder than Karpov because the analytical path is less direct. I stare at the screen for almost twenty minutes before an idea strikes. My fingers flying over the keyboard, I run shell company filings against commercial real estate transactions in the south industrial corridor, cross-referenced with suspicious freight registrations over the last three years. When BOB gives me output, there are six properties and the Georgetown warehouse is one of them.

I could sell this as a stroke of genius plus luck if anyone were to look at my build history.

The last thing I look at is the Russian bakery, but luck is on my side. Apparently, the FBI already has that on their list of potential sites where Voronin hangs out, but it doesn’t look like any active surveillance has been done there in a long time. I make a note to talk to Cole and Reid about it, and maybe Jameson can check it out.

I toss the pen down and reach my hands above my head, stretching my back and shoulders. I roll my neck, loosening the slight muscle cramps. I glance at the time and realize I’ve been here almost three hours. Feels like I just started.

I’ve got two new pieces of information for the investigation, and I’ll get eyes back on the Russian bakery. I can sell this easily as the result of legitimate analytical work that any senior analyst could replicate. The trail is clean and Finn is protected.

I shoot a text to both Reid and Cole. Got time to meet on a few things regarding Voronin?