"Seventeen minutes past the window."
Mark killed the engine of the surveillance van. Through the tinted windshield, the entrance to the private depository in lower Manhattan remained completely undisturbed. The designated courier drop-off box sat empty. No biometric key exchange. No anonymous proxy in a tailored suit.
Pedestrians walked past the brass double doors, oblivious to the three people watching from the parked vehicle across the street.
Christian stared at the empty sidewalk. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension from the morning's interrogation still knotted in his muscles.
Leaning forward from the back row, Julianne checked the encrypted tablet resting on her knees. The digital tracker they had placed on the depository’s internal network showed zero activity.
"Croft w
