"What?" Salvar asked the man who delivered the news.
"I just got the call," the man replied.
Salvar stared at the worker's face for one full second.
Then slapped his own forehead.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
His hand came down on the table hard enough to shake it.
"How did he die?"
The worker who had been mopping earlier set the mop against the wall and walked over. Before Salvar could react, a hand closed around his collar.
"You were looking for him." His eyes were flat. "You sure you weren't involved?"
Salvar's mind moved instantly.
Shit.
He had been watched.
Not here.
Before here.
The surveillance room. The logistics office. Every step since he started pulling at the thread named Matthew Handison.
Someone had watched him pull it... and cut it before it reached anything useful.
And now a worker inside a half-empty bar on R Street had him by the collar asking a perfectly reasonable question.
Worse possibility.
What if Matthew had never been the point?
