Danny’s eyes were wide. Sweat poured down his face. He didn’t say anything at first.
Then finally, he whispered: “We didn’t… get names. We were given directions.”
Juan’s eyes narrowed. “Directions?”
Danny nodded slowly, groaning in pain. “Someone trained us. Not military training, but enough to move clean. He wore a mask. His voice was changed. We only saw him twice. Never got a clear look.”
“So he wasn’t one of mine?”
“No,” Danny said, breathing hard. “But he knew stuff. He knew when your guys were working. Which crates to touch. Which to leave alone.”
Juan looked at him closely. “That’s inside knowledge.”
Danny nodded weakly. “He knew what was coming in and out. He knew the schedules. The routes. The exacrnt number of crates— three-forty-five. Sixteen were to be left untouched by
