Casey swallowed hard. "I told them I was bringing a friend. But let’s be clear, Strak—I want the passport and the keys to the safe house in Vancouver. No more games."
"You're late, Flip," Strak said, his voice a gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in Casey’s marrow. Run Away, Scene 2 - Casey Flip, Johnathan Strak...
"Traffic’s a bitch when you’re avoiding the main roads," Casey shot back, trying to keep his knees from knocking. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered leather satchel. "I have the drive. Everything’s on it. The ledgers, the offshore accounts, the names of the board members who signed off on the 'cleanup.'" Casey swallowed hard
The air in the alley turned ice-cold. Casey gripped the satchel tighter. "If anything happens to me, the drive auto-uploads to the feds in sixty minutes. You kill me, you kill your employers." No more games
Strak stopped five feet away. The distance felt like a canyon. "And the buyer? You told them I was coming?"
He tapped a small black device on his belt. Casey’s heart plummeted. He looked toward the exit, but the heavy steel doors were bolted from the outside.
"Run away, Casey," Strak whispered, almost tenderly. "Give me a reason to make this interesting. I’ll give you a ten-second head start."