The subterranean Sinclair Corporation garage currently looked like a high-end, multi-million-dollar chop shop.
The two-hundred-thousand-dollar armored SUV that Aria and Richard had used had been stripped down to its bare chassis. The plush leather seats had been ripped out. The dashboard was completely dismantled, exposing a chaotic nest of multicolored wires. Even the reinforced door panels lay discarded on the concrete floor.
A team of six highly specialized, sweating Sinclair engineers stepped back from the wreckage, wiping grease from their hands.
The lead engineer swallowed hard, looking toward the shadows at the edge of the garage.
"It's completely clean, Mr. Sinclair," the engineer reported, his voice echoing nervously in the cavernous space. "We swept every inch. We ran RF detectors, electromagnetic scanners, and physical tear-downs. There are no hardwired transmitters, no hidden microphones, and no GPS trackers. The vehicle wasn't bugged."
