The Dead Drop

Buenos Aires was alive with movement. The streets pulsed with the chaotic energy of a city that never truly slept. The gang moved with purpose, their steps blending into the rhythm of the locals, but their minds were fixed on one thing—the whistleblower’s message.

The message was a cryptic lead at best. It had come in the form of a folded newspaper, left at their hotel’s front desk with no name, no explanation. Olivia had torn it open immediately, flipping through the pages until she found it—an underlined passage in the classified ads section.

> "For answers, seek the past. The librarian knows the way. Noon. No time for mistakes."

Leanna was the first to speak. "A library?"

"Looks like it," Olivia muttered. "Question is, which one?"

Jessica leaned over the paper. The ad had three small ink dots beneath the message, barely noticeable. "This isn’t random. Someone marked this."

"Code?" Kevin asked.

"Coordinates, maybe?" Hannah suggested.

It took Olivia and Leanna only minutes to decipher it—the dots matched the numerical identifier for the National Library of Argentina. It was a bold location. Public, yet sprawling enough for a covert meeting.

******************************

By 11:30 AM, the gang had split up, taking positions around the massive stone library. Jessica and Leanna sat inside, pretending to read newspapers near the central information desk. Olivia, always one step ahead, browsed the stacks, keeping her laptop open as if studying. Hannah and Kevin took a seat in the adjacent café, watching the entrance.

No one spoke over comms, but they all knew the plan: observe, wait, and don’t engage unless necessary.

At exactly 12:01 PM, the whistleblower appeared.

He was older than they expected, mid-60s, thin, dressed in a modest brown suit. He walked with quick, nervous steps, his eyes darting from shelf to shelf. He wasn’t here to read.

Leanna whispered, "That’s him. He’s looking for us."

Jessica was already moving. "Then we need to make contact—"

Too late. The old man froze mid-step, his face turning pale. His hand, which had been reaching for a book, hesitated. He wasn’t looking at them. He was looking past them.

Jessica followed his gaze to the entrance. Two men in dark suits had just walked in, scanning the room. Their movements were too coordinated. They weren’t casual visitors. The whistleblower turned sharply, knocking over a stack of books as he bolted for the emergency exit.

"Shit!" Jessica hissed.

Leanna didn’t hesitate. "Move!"

The gang sprang into action. Kevin and Hannah dropped their coffees and ran from the café. Olivia was already on her feet.

Outside, the whistleblower was running. He made it across the street, pushing past pedestrians, but the men in suits were gaining. Jessica tore through the crowd, shoving past people. He was almost to the alley when a gunshot rang out, and the whistleblower collapsed, his body slamming into the pavement.

Jessica skidded to a stop, heart hammering. People screamed, some running, others pulling out phones. The men in suits didn’t even flinch. They turned away, walking in the opposite direction as if nothing had happened.

Leanna reached Jessica’s side, her face pale. "He’s gone."

Olivia arrived seconds later, her mind already calculating. "He dropped something."

Jessica knelt, her hands trembling as she picked up a small, bloodstained notebook tucked beneath his jacket. It was old, leather-bound, and worn with use.

On the cover, in faded ink, were three words:

"Lazarus Vellum Lives."

Jessica’s breath caught in her throat.

"We need to go. Now," Olivia snapped, pulling them away as sirens began wailing in the distance. "We’ve just been made."

The gang vanished into the chaos of Buenos Aires, the weight of the mystery pressing down heavier than ever.

Who the hell was Lazarus Vellum? And more importantly, what did he know that was worth killing for?