It was a few minutes after twelve when the last man in Hardy’s usual rotating day crew of nine men and three women, most of them ex-cops, showed up to join the normal weekday overnight shift of two men. They met in the front lobby, and all of them were armed, following Hardy’s orders.
“It’s all hands on deck. We’re looking at the possibility of a break-in sometime from now until the early day shift starts showing up at eight.”
“Can you tell us what the nature of the break-in might be?” one of the security officers asked. “Is it a burglary?”
“Unknown at this point,” Hardy said. “But you should expect that the assailant could be armed.”
His landline upstairs rolled over to his cell phone after two rings. He answered it. “Hardy.”
“Ben Whalen. I have your flash drive, and I’m willing to trade for it.”
“What do you want in exchange?”
“The location of Cassy Levin.”
“Where do you want to meet?” Hardy asked without thinking.
“Outside the Nassau Street entrance to your firm. I’ll be on foot, alone and unarmed.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes from now.”
“Done,” Hardy said.