Chapter 49 Cal
CAL
Can’t fly to rescue Parker in a jet that traces back to the organization. Too many questions. Too much exposure.
So we’re flying in a ghost.
I’ve been working since we left the mill to get to Hickory Regional Airstrip and I’m making headway.
I’ve got three laptops open on the cabin table, screens filled with data streams, security feeds, location tracking, communications intercepts.
My fingers move across keyboards in a rhythm I don’t have to think about anymore, muscle memory from twenty years of doing this work.
Left screen: Flight tracking data, FAA records, private jet registrations, transponder signals. The jet Ryan put Parker on. I’ve been following it since I found the surveillance footage of him carrying her unconscious body onto the tarmac.
Center screen: Ground activity at the destination airport. Traffic cameras, car service dispatch logs, rental vehicle databases, ride-share apps. Every possible way Ryan could transport Parker from the airport to wherever he’s taking her.
Right screen: Property records, real estate transactions, rental listings, Airbnb bookings. Every property within a fifty-mile radius of where that jet is headed.
My tablet is propped beside the laptops, displaying the jet’s current position, flight path, estimated landing time. Updating in real-time as I track its progress.
Charles is across from me, phone pressed to his ear, coordinating with security teams. He just hung up with Sienna, his face still tight with controlled fury from hearing that Parker thought she was meeting us in Asheville.
Except we never called her.
Except Ryan Matthews used sophisticated deepfake technology to impersonate me on a video call.
Except Parker is on a jet right now, unconscious or restrained, being taken God knows where by the man who orchestrated an attack on her children.
Silas is near the cockpit, staring out the window with the kind of stillness that means he’s already planning how to kill Ryan Matthews slowly.
Jace is beside me, weapon disassembled on the table, cleaning and checking each component with methodical precision. His steel-blue eyes keep flicking to my screens, watching the data scroll past.
“Talk to me, Cal,” Charles says, ending his call. “Where is she?”
“I found her on surveillance footage from a private tarmac forty minutes ago.” I don’t look up, my eyes tracking the flight data on the left screen, my fingers pulling up the video file on the center screen.
“Ryan carried her to a Gulfstream G280. She was unconscious. Looked like she’d been drugged. ”
I play the footage. The image quality isn’t great but it’s clear enough. Ryan Matthews carrying Parker’s limp body across the tarmac, her head lolling against his shoulder. Two other men with him, both armed, both scanning for threats.
Charles makes a sound low in his throat. Silas turns from the window, his grey eyes fixed on the screen.
“Registration?” Charles asks, his voice dangerously calm.
“Private aircraft, registered to a charter company based in Virginia.” I’m already pulling up the ownership structure. “But the company’s a front. Shell corporation owned by another shell corporation owned by three more. I’m breaking down the chain now but it’ll take time.”
“Do we care who owns it?” Silas asks. “We know where it’s going.”
“We do.” I pull up the flight plan on the left screen. “Filed flight plan shows destination as Asheville Regional Airport. Private terminal, minimal security, perfect for discreet arrivals.”
“ETA?”
I check the live tracking data. “They landed twenty-two minutes ago.”
“Fuck,” Jace breathes. “She’s already on the ground.”
“Which means Ryan’s already moving her.” I’m switching screens rapidly now, pulling up everything I can access about Asheville Regional’s private terminal.
“But I’ve got traffic cameras around the airport.
I’m running facial recognition and vehicle tracking on everything that left the private terminal in the past twenty-five minutes. ”
My fingers fly across the keyboard. Left hand navigating camera feeds, right hand running recognition algorithms, eyes tracking multiple data streams simultaneously.
“How long?” Charles demands.
“Give me five minutes.” Three cameras. Seven vehicles leaving the terminal in the right timeframe. I’m running plates on all of them, cross-referencing against rental databases, stolen vehicle reports, known shell company registrations.
Two vehicles come back clean. Normal rentals, legitimate business travelers.
Five vehicles have flags.
“Got three possibles,” I say, highlighting them on the center screen. “Black Mercedes SUV, dark blue Range Rover, and a grey Suburban. All three have plates registered to shell companies with no legitimate business address.”
“Which one is Ryan?” Jace asks.
“Working on it.” I’m pulling traffic camera footage now, tracking each vehicle’s route from the airport. “Mercedes went north toward downtown Asheville. Range Rover went east on I-40. Suburban went south into the mountains.”
I overlay the routes on my tablet, analyzing the patterns.
“South into the mountains,” Silas says, reading my screen. “That’s where I’d go. Remote, defensible, away from population centers.”
“Agreed.” I’m already focusing on the Suburban, pulling up every traffic camera along its route. “But I need to confirm before we commit.”
More footage. More tracking. The Suburban stays on main roads for fifteen minutes, then turns off onto smaller mountain roads where camera coverage is sparse.
“I’m losing them,” I admit, frustration bleeding into my voice. “Not enough cameras in the mountain areas. I’ve got their last known position twenty-three minutes ago but after that, nothing.”
“Give me coordinates,” Charles says.
I send them to everyone’s phones. “Last confirmed sighting was here. After that, they could have gone to any of a dozen different properties in the area.”
“So we narrow it down.” Jace is studying the map on his phone. “What’s out there? Who owns property in that area?”
I’m already on it. Right screen shows property records, filtering by recent purchases, cash transactions, properties registered to shell companies.
“Seventeen properties match the basic criteria,” I say, pulling up the list. “But most are legitimate vacation rentals, hunting cabins, family properties. I need to narrow it further.”
“How?” Charles asks.
“Utility usage.” I’m hacking into power company databases, water service records, internet provider logs. “Ryan needs electricity, running water, internet for communications. If he set this up ahead of time, there should be a spike in utility activation within the past few weeks.”
The search runs. Fifteen properties drop off the list immediately. No recent utility changes, no signs of preparation.
Two properties remain.
“Two locations,” I announce, pulling up details on both. “First is a hunting cabin, purchased four weeks ago through a shell company. Utilities activated three weeks ago. Isolated, three miles from the nearest neighbor.”
“Second location?”
“Rental property. Booked through Airbnb two weeks ago using a fake identity. Payment made through cryptocurrency. Utilities already active but internet usage spiked significantly starting yesterday.”
I pull up satellite imagery of both locations on my tablet, comparing terrain, access roads, defensibility.
“The rental,” Jace says, studying the images. “The hunting cabin is too exposed. Single access road, clear sight lines. If Ryan expected we might track him, he’d avoid it.”
“The rental has multiple access routes,” I agree, zooming in. “And it’s closer to town. Easier to blend in, easier to move if he needs to evacuate.”
“Best guess,” Charles says. “Which one?”
I look at the data. The patterns. The logistics.
“The rental,” I say with certainty. “Everything about the hunting cabin screams obvious. Ryan’s smarter than that. He’d choose the property that looks less suspicious, that gives him more options.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.” Charles is already pulling out his phone. “I’m calling local security teams, getting them positioned around both locations just in case.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand, still staring at my screens. “If Ryan has lookouts, if he sees a convoy approaching, he might panic. Might hurt Parker.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“We go in quiet. Just the four of us for initial reconnaissance.” I’m pulling up building schematics now, trying to find the property layout. “Confirm Parker’s location, assess the threat, then bring in reinforcements for extraction.”
Charles considers this, and I watch the calculation happen behind his eyes. Brother versus leader. Emotion versus tactics.
“How long until we land?” he asks.
“Twelve minutes,” I say, checking our flight time.
“And from the airport to the rental property?”
“Twenty-five minutes if we push it. Maybe thirty.”
“She’s been on the ground for almost an hour,” Silas says quietly. “That’s a long time with Ryan.”
The words hang heavy in the cabin.
I turn back to my screens, pushing down the fear, the worst-case scenarios trying to claw their way into my consciousness. Focus on the data. On the logistics. On building the tactical picture.
Because that’s what I do. That’s my role.
“Cal,” Charles says, and his voice is different now. Careful. “Explain something to me.”
“What?” I’m running property tax records, looking for any additional information about the rental.
“Why would Ryan use you as bait? You, Jace, and Silas specifically.”
My fingers pause on the keyboard. Just for a second. Then resume typing.
“He knew Parker would trust us,” I say, keeping my voice neutral, my eyes on the screens. “We’re her security. Her protection detail. Makes sense she’d respond to a call from us about a security matter.”