Corporate Veil

The first rays of dawn painted the city skyline in hues of pale orange and soft grey, a stark contrast to the darkness that had shrouded Sam's apartment just hours before. Sam, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, stared at the laptop screen, the image of the global logistics and transportation company's headquarters looming large.

The company's logo, a stylized globe encircled by a network of lines, seemed to mock him, its innocuous design a mask for the sinister activities he suspected lay beneath.

"Global Logistics and Transportation," he muttered, reading the company's mission statement aloud. "Connecting the world, delivering excellence." He scoffed. "More like, connecting the worlds, delivering souls."

Liam, his face still pale from the previous night's unsettling dream, entered the living room, a mug of coffee in his hand. "You're already up? Or have you not slept at all?"

Sam replied, "Good morning. Don't worry, I made sure to sleep. I got up not too long ago."

"Alright. Anything new?" Liam asked, his voice hoarse.

"I've been researching this company," Sam replied, gesturing towards the laptop. "They're huge. A multinational conglomerate with operations in nearly every country. They handle everything from shipping and warehousing to supply chain management and freight forwarding."

"And you think they're involved with the cult?" Liam asked, his brow furrowed.

"It's more than just a hunch," Sam said, his voice grim. "The coordinates from the coded message point directly to their headquarters. I've taken out these coordinates, date and time, from the combined codes of your phone's recovered file and piece of paper. And given what we know about the thresholds, it makes sense. A company like this would have the resources and infrastructure to move large numbers of people without raising suspicion."

He handed him the note he made with the deciphered message, and pulled up a map of the city, highlighting the location of the company's headquarters. "Look at this," he said, pointing to the map. "The building is strategically located near major transportation hubs – airports, ports, train stations. It's the perfect cover for moving victims in and out of the city."

"So, what do we do?" Liam asked, his gaze fixed on the note and then the map.

"We investigate," Sam replied, his voice firm. "We need to find out what's going on inside that building. And we need to find that van."

He pulled up the image of the van's license plate, the numbers still inverted from the reflection. "I've already tried to access the registration details online, but I hit a legal roadblock. We'll have to go to the transport department in person."

"Here's the license plate number I noted down from the image," Sam said and handed the note.

Liam was shocked. "You did all these? You must not have gotten enough sleep at all. Do you want to sleep in today? I can handle the registration details alone."

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine. Let's go together."

They ate breakfast not long after, and prepared to leave for the transport department with necessary files and documents.

As they were about to leave, the news on the television caught their attention. "The CEO of Global Logistics and Transportation, Mr. William Richards, is attending a high-profile meeting today in the downtown district."

Sam looked at Liam, an idea forming in his mind. "I'll go to that meeting. You go to the transport department and get the van's details."

Liam nodded, understanding the plan. "Be careful, Sam."

Liam watched Sam disappear into the throng of people heading towards the downtown meeting, then turned his attention to the task at hand.

The transport department was a labyrinth of bureaucratic inefficiency, a place where paperwork seemed to multiply and time slowed to a crawl. After what felt like an eternity, he finally obtained the van's registration details. He had initially faced a wall of resistance, making him take longer than he thought he would. The clerk, a middle-aged man with a perpetually furrowed brow, scoffed at his request.

"Vehicle registration details are for law enforcement, licensed investigators, and authorized personnel only," the clerk said, his voice laced with disdain. "Not for just anyone who walks in off the street."

"I am a licensed private investigator," Liam replied, producing his credentials.

The clerk examined the ID with suspicion. "Sure, and I'm the king of England. We get wannabes with fake IDs in here all the time. Stalkers, obsessed fans, paparazzi—you name it."

Liam pulled out his phone, displaying several articles about his past cases. "Look, these are articles about my work. I've been involved in some high-profile investigations."

The clerk remained unimpressed. "Anyone can create fake articles online."

Just then, a voice rang out from across the room. "Liam? Liam Vance?"

A younger man, his eyes wide with recognition, approached them. "Are you really Liam Vance?"

Liam nodded, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Wow, I'm a huge fan!" the man exclaimed. "You're the one who solved the 'Crimson Knot' case, right? The one where you exposed the corrupt city officials? And you cracked the 'Whispering Walls' murders, even after Detective Mallory had given up on it?"

The clerk's face flushed crimson. He stammered, "I... I didn't realise..."

"Liam Vance is a legend," the fan continued, his voice filled with admiration. "He started working with Detective Mallory as a prodigy, solved more cold cases than anyone in the last decade, and he's still young. He's solved so many cases that were closed by the police. He's a genius."

The clerk, now thoroughly embarrassed, quickly retrieved the van's registration details. "Here you go, Mr. Vance. I apologise for the misunderstanding."

Liam thanked him and took the details, a sense of satisfaction mixed with unease. He had a reputation, and it could be both a blessing and a curse.

The address listed was in a desolate industrial area on the outskirts of the city.

The drive was long, the landscape shifting from urban sprawl to a bleak expanse of abandoned factories and warehouses. A biting wind whipped through the skeletal trees, sending swirls of fallen leaves skittering across the cracked asphalt. The sky was a dull, overcast grey, the air thick with the damp chill of approaching winter.

The address led him to an abandoned warehouse, its corrugated metal walls rusting and peeling, the windows boarded up with splintered plywood. The air hung heavy with the smell of damp earth and decaying wood. As Liam approached, he noticed faint tire tracks leading to a loading dock, almost obscured by the drifting leaves. He cautiously circled the building, his senses on high alert. A broken window at the rear offered a glimpse inside.

He slipped through the opening, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The interior was a chaotic jumble of discarded crates and machinery, shrouded in a thick layer of dust. The air was stale and musty, with a faint metallic tang that made his skin crawl. As he ventured deeper, he noticed signs of recent activity – scattered food wrappers, makeshift bedding, and the unmistakable scent of chemicals.

In a secluded corner, he found what he was looking for: bomb-making materials. Wires, detonators, and blocks of what appeared to be C4 were laid out on a makeshift workbench, along with crude diagrams and handwritten notes. The discovery sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. This wasn't just about missing people anymore; it was about a potential act of terrorism.

He quickly retreated, his mind racing. He needed to get out of there and warn Sam.

Meanwhile, Sam had managed to slip into the meeting, blending seamlessly with the crowd. He observed Mr. Richards, the company head, noting his calm demeanour and the genuine concern in his eyes as he addressed the audience. After the meeting, Sam found an opportunity to approach him.

"Mr. Richards, my name is Samuel Drake," he began, extending his hand. "I'm investigating some... unusual activities that may involve your company."

Mr. Richards, though surprised, listened patiently as Sam outlined his concerns. He seemed genuinely perplexed, assuring Sam that he was unaware of any wrongdoing within his organisation. Intrigued, he gave Sam his personal business card, a sleek black card that doubled as a VIP access pass to the company headquarters.

Sam left the meeting with a mix of relief and unease. Mr. Richards seemed sincere, but the discovery at the warehouse painted a different picture.Later that afternoon, they met at their usual cafe, the aroma of strong coffee filling the air. "The warehouse is a bomb factory," Liam said, his voice grim, laying out the details of his findings. "C4, detonators, the works."

Sam nodded, his expression grave. "And I have this," he said, sliding Mr. Richards' card across the table. "He seems clean, but the card grants access to the company headquarters, and that is where we need to go."

"So, what's the plan?" Liam asked, his eyes filled with determination.

"We go in tomorrow," Sam replied, his voice firm. "We find out what's really going on inside that building."