Chapter 4: What Harlan Knows
The three federal vehicles arrived eleven minutes later.
Two black SUVs and an unmarked sedan pulled onto the shoulder behind Savannah's car.
Four agents stepped out — two men, two women, all in plain clothes, all with the same unhurried way of moving that told you they had done this many times before.
Greer and Pruitt were separated immediately.
One agent walked Pruitt to the far SUV.
Another positioned himself near Greer without touching him, without speaking, just close enough that Greer stopped thinking about the tree line.
Savannah spoke quietly with the lead agent — a compact woman named Torres — for about two minutes.
Torres listened without interrupting.
At the end, she nodded once.
"We flagged Harlan Briggs eighteen months ago," Torres said.
"Civilian contractor.
He ran freight logistics for three counties before we started looking at the routing irregularities."
"Greer called him before the stop," Savannah said.
"Then Harlan already knows you exist."
They both looked at Greer, who was standing fifteen feet away, arms crossed, staring at the asphalt.
"He know your cover identity?" Torres asked.
"He knows Savannah Cole.
He doesn't know the rest."
"That window is closing."
Savannah nodded.
"I need to get to the warehouse before it does."
Torres glanced toward the SUVs.
"I can have two of my people go with you."
"One.
And they stay in the vehicle."
Torres studied her.
"You understand what Greer just told you.
If Harlan decides this road needs to get quiet—"
"Then I need to be somewhere Harlan can see me clearly and still feel safe," Savannah said.
"The moment he thinks I'm a threat, everything moves.
We need him comfortable for another forty-eight hours."
Torres was quiet for a moment.
Then: "I'll give you Reyes.
He's good and he's quiet."
"That's enough."
Savannah walked back toward Greer.
He watched her come.
"Harlan Briggs," she said.
"Tell me how to find him right now."
"I already told you too much."
"You told me a first name.
That's not too much, that's nothing.
I'll find him in the next twenty minutes regardless.
But right now you have a choice that you will not have again after I walk away." She waited.
"Help me, and Torres over there starts her report with the word cooperative.
Don't help me, and she starts it with the word obstructive.
You know what those two words mean for what comes next."
Greer looked at Torres.
Torres did not look back.
She was writing something in a small notebook, calm as a woman filling out a grocery list.
"He runs his operation out of a freight yard off Route 9," Greer said.
"Twelve miles east.
Blue gate.
You'll see the name Briggs Transport on the sign but it'll be faded.
He's usually there in the afternoons."
"Security?"
"Two men at the gate.
Maybe one more inside."
"Armed?"
Greer looked at the ground.
"Yes."
"Does Harlan know what I look like?"
"I didn't describe you.
I just told him there was a federal agent working the district."
"Then he's spooked but not specific." Savannah thought for a moment.
"Good.
That's workable."
She turned to go.
"Hey." Greer's voice was different now.
The hardness was still there but something underneath it had changed.
"What happens to Pruitt?"
Savannah stopped.
She didn't turn around.
"He put his phone on the hood," she said.
"That's where it starts."
She walked to Reyes, who was already in the second SUV, engine running.
She got in the passenger side.
Reyes pulled onto the road without being told which direction.
"Route 9 east," Savannah said.
"Twelve miles."
Reyes nodded.
He didn't ask questions.
That was why Torres had sent him.
Savannah looked at her phone.
The message from Captain Rourke was still on the screen.
Four words, sent forty minutes ago before the stop, before the handcuffs, before Greer's face had gone pale twice in ten minutes.
Four words: *They made their move.*
She typed back: *So did I.*
The SUV moved east.
The freight yard was twelve miles away.
Harlan Briggs was there, in the afternoon light, not yet knowing that the woman Greer had just called him about was already on the way.
Forty-eight hours.
That was all she needed.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Not Rourke this time.
A number she didn't recognize.
A local area code.
She answered.
Silence on the line for two seconds.
May you like
Then a man's voice, low and unhurried: "Special Agent Cole.
I think we should talk before you make a mistake you can't take back."
