33. Blake
33
BLAKE
With the unsettling realization that Georgia-May might have been whisked away in an ambulance, Clay and I rush back to the hospital’s security office. Sergeant Garcia, who’s been coordinating the search, is still there.
“We need to check any recent ambulance movements that look out of the ordinary,” I state as we approach her.
Garcia motions to her team, who quickly bring up the emergency care transportation logs on their monitors.
“There’s one unit unaccounted for,” one of the technicians calls out after a few minutes of rapid keystrokes. “It left the hospital around the time Georgia-May disappeared but never reached its logged destination.”
“Where is it now?” I ask, leaning over the array of screens to better see the displayed GPS data.
“It’s currently stationary,” another technician responds, zooming into a map on the screen. “It was last tracked stopping at Sylmar, on the northern outskirts.”
A silent agreement passes between Clay and me.
“Let’s get the coordinates and move out,” I say. Garcia is already on her phone, presumably calling for backup.
We race to the spot indicated on the map, the drive feeling interminably long as tension mounts. Eventually, we find the ambulance abandoned on the fringe of Sylmar as indicated. It sits alone, looking forlorn against the backdrop of the oppressive night.
My shoulders slump as I take in the scene. “They could be anywhere by now,” I sigh, disappointment heavy in my voice.
Clay places a hand on my back. “Let’s regroup at HQ,” he suggests, his tone steady.
My brain spins at an unprecedented speed. Every bit of my experience, my so-called sniffer-dog instincts, converges at this moment. I won’t stop—hell no! I’ve got to come up with something.
Memories of Georgia-May’s insights into Sebastian’s efforts to sabotage Bertram’s system linger in my thoughts. While we might lag in the physical chase, Bertram’s real battleground is digital. We must outwit him in a domain governed by code and algorithms.
“All right. Let’s go. We need Thomas,” I assert—visualizing our next moves.
When we arrive at Newport, we immediately make our way to Hartley Marine’s IT, where Thomas and Rob are already deep in their own investigations.
“Jesus, Blake!” Rob exclaims as if I were on death’s door. “Take a seat!”
I settle into a chair and take a long gulp of the water bottle Thomas hands me.
“Electrolyte-infused,” the tech genius notes.
“Let’s get to work,” I say, concealing a sudden wave of dizziness—no doubt the remnants of the drug. I’m hoping this electrolyte water might help, though that’s a long shot. If anything can keep me upright, it’s the thought of Georgia-May.
“All right, where do we start?” Thomas asks.
“The beginning,” I reply.