Chapter 8: The Photographer Talks
Harlan Bates sounded like a man who hadn't slept in several days.
His voice came through the secure line thin and careful, the voice of someone choosing each word the way you choose footing on ice.
"Mr.
Cross.
I want to be clear that I'm reaching out voluntarily."
"Noted," Gabriel said.
"Talk."
"I've been contracted by Serena Vale's family office on four occasions over the past six years.
The Rome assignment was the third.
I was hired to surveil a woman named Claire Harmon and document her activities during a four-day conference." A pause.
"I took two photographs.
Both were of her standing outside a restaurant with a British cardiologist named Ashworth.
There was nothing incriminating in either image."
"But you sold them anyway," Gabriel said.
"I delivered them to my client.
That's the job." His voice tightened slightly.
"What I did not do — what I want to be very clear I did not do — is alter them.
The photograph that Vitelli's people are circulating, the one with the other man's face, that is not my work."
"Who altered it?"
"A man named Decker.
He works for Vitelli's organization.
He's done this kind of work before — digital fabrication, document manipulation.
He's very good." Another pause.
"Six months ago, Vitelli's people approached me and told me they had a copy of my original photograph and intended to use it.
They told me if I said anything to anyone, they would tell my clients that I had been cooperating with federal investigators."
"Had you been?" Gabriel asked.
A long silence.
"That's not a question I can answer on this line."
"Fair enough.
Keep going."
"I stayed quiet.
But two days ago, Vitelli's people reached out again.
They told me they were moving forward with the fabricated image.
They told me the timeline was immediate." Bates's voice dropped.
"Mr.
Cross, I have a family.
I'm not a brave man.
But I'm also not willing to be the person whose work gets used to put three children in danger."
The room was very still.
"How do you know about the children?" Gabriel asked.
"Vitelli's man told me.
He was making a point.
He wanted me to understand the stakes." Bates paused.
"He said — and I'm quoting this exactly — 'Cross will do anything to protect what he just found out he has.' He seemed very confident about that."
Gabriel looked at me.
I looked back at him.
"Mr.
Bates," I said.
"I'm Claire.
The woman in your photographs."
A beat of silence.
"Mrs.
Cross."
"Ms.
Harmon.
I need to know — the original photographs.
Do you still have them?
The unaltered originals?"
"Yes.
I keep originals of everything.
It's the only leverage I ever have."
"Can you authenticate them?
Timestamp, metadata, chain of custody?"
"I can.
My equipment logs are meticulous." A pause.
"Is that what you need?"
"That's exactly what we need," Gabriel said.
"I want those files transmitted to my security team within the hour.
Encrypted.
Dov will send you the protocol."
"And in exchange?"
"In exchange, I deal with Vitelli.
And your name stays out of it."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"How do I know you'll hold to that?"
Gabriel leaned forward slightly.
"Because I don't break agreements, Mr.
Bates.
Ask anyone who's ever made one with me."
Bates seemed to weigh this.
"All right."
"One more thing," Gabriel said.
"Vitelli's man who told you about the children.
Name."
"Reyes.
First name I don't know.
He has a scar above his left eyebrow."
Dov wrote it down without being asked.
The call ended.
Gabriel sat back.
The room felt different now — the shape of the problem had changed.
It was still dangerous, but it had edges.
You can work with something that has edges.
"The originals will clear you," Gabriel said to me.
"Completely.
No fabricated image holds up against authenticated originals with intact metadata."
"I know." I looked at him.
"But Vitelli doesn't know we have them yet."
"No." Something moved across his face.
"He doesn't."
"So we have a window."
"A short one." He looked at Dov.
"I want Reyes found.
And I want to know who Vitelli is meeting with tomorrow and where."
Dov nodded and stepped out.
Serena, who had been sitting quietly in the corner through the entire call, spoke.
"He's meeting with the Marchetti family," she said.
"Tomorrow afternoon.
A restaurant in Midtown.
He's been brokering an alliance for three months.
The Port Authority contract is part of the deal — he's promising them a share."
Gabriel turned to look at her slowly.
"How do you know that?"
"Because he told me." She met his gaze without flinching.
"Six months ago, when he threatened me.
He wanted me to understand how serious he was.
He told me the whole plan." A pause.
"I've been sitting on it ever since."
"And you're telling me now."
"I'm telling you now," she said, "because I'm done staying quiet.
And because—" She stopped.
Looked at her hands.
"Because those boys down the hall didn't ask for any of this.
And neither did she."
The room held that for a moment.
Gabriel looked at her for a long time.
Then he looked at me.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"Midtown.
We end this."
I nodded once.
Then the lights in the corridor flickered — just once, briefly — and Dov came back through the door with his phone in his hand and an expression that meant the night wasn't finished yet.
"Reyes," he said.
May you like
"We found him.
He's in the building."
