He had been collecting beetles that afternoon in the abandoned Harwick Industrial Building off Route 7. It was a long concrete structure perfect for finding bugs—and, apparently, for hiding other things. Leo had been on the third floor, flat on his stomach with a mason jar, when voices echoed up from the loading bay. He stayed flat because something in the quality of those voices told him to hide.
Low. Deliberate. The voices of men being careful not to be overheard.
He told Riker what he heard, and Riker listened the way he listened to field reports: without expression, without interruption, filing each piece in its proper place.
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Chapter 2
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The Threat Assessment: