Chapter 22
Gabe waited to fully explain until everyone settled around Cara's kitchen table. Tom brought his own computer. Wade positioned himself where he could monitor the front windows. Reagan set her server's notebook beside Gabe's laptop. Piper pulled up something on her phone without being asked.
Operational assets assembling for a briefing. His IA training had taught him to suspect everyone. Five years of investigating colleagues who'd violated their oaths. Five years of turning over rocks and finding corruption underneath.
These were people with training they weren't discussing.
Just like Cara.
He hadn't run a team in five years. Hadn't needed these instincts since Philadelphia pulled him out of counterintelligence and stuck him behind an IA desk. Now they flooded back, sharp and immediate.
"David left audio files." He clicked play on the first recording, trying not to wince as his brother's voice filled the small space.
When it finished, nobody spoke for a long moment.
Tom broke the silence. "How much documentation?"
"Months. Maybe years." Gabe opened folders. "Manifests. Financial records. Surveillance photos. Audio recordings. Shell corporation filings. It's comprehensive but I don't know where to start."
"I can help organize." Tom leaned forward. "Cross-reference dates and names. Build a timeline. Find patterns."
Not an offer. A statement of capability.
Gabe studied him. "Okay. Start with the manifests. See if you can correlate them with anything else in the files."
Tom pulled his laptop closer.
Reagan opened her notebook. "These boat names your brother documented. I've seen them."
Gabe's attention sharpened. "Where?"
"My diner." She flipped through pages covered in server's shorthand. Dates. Times. Notes. "Same group of men come in right after we open around once a month. Seven, seven thirty in the morning. They look exhausted. Smell like diesel. Claim they've been night fishing."
"That's not unusual for fishermen," Gabe said.
"No. But the pattern is." Reagan pointed to her notes. "They only appear around new moon. Every dark moon phase, like clockwork. Real fishing depends on weather and season. This is scheduled."
Wade shifted. "Same crew each time?"
"Same faces. Different boats." Reagan's voice carried certainty. "One month a guy claims he works The Marisol. Next month it's Pacific Dream. Fishing crews don't rotate like that. Captains keep the same people."
Gabe felt something click into place. "You've been documenting this."
"Six months. Ever since I noticed they don't talk like real fishermen. They're not part of the local fishing community." She met his eyes. "And they always pay cash."
Classic smuggling behavior. Regular schedule coordinated with environmental conditions. Rotating personnel to avoid patterns. Reagan had been tracking an operation without knowing what it was. Or why she’d need the intel.
Tom glanced up from his laptop. "These manifests are dated by lunar cycle. Your brother was correlating dark moon phases with boat activity. Sounds like Reagan’s dudes."
"The warehouse." Wade's voice cut through. Flat. Certain. "They'd need somewhere local to offload. Can't go straight to Seattle with the tonnage these boats carry. Not without refueling."
Gabe turned to him. "What warehouse?"
"Dock Road. Only facility with deep water access and container capacity." Wade tugged at his beard, thinking. "Security lights haven't worked in two years. No overnight guards. Perfect waystation."
Every instinct Gabe had screamed that Wade Patterson was more than an old boat hand who'd fished in Alaska. Military. Had to be, though the graying temples and signs of white in his five o’clock shadow suggested he’d likely been out maybe longer than he was in.
The question was which branch and why he was hiding it.
Later. Right now, Gabe needed the information more than the explanation. "Can you sketch the layout?"
Wade pulled Reagan's notebook over. Drew quick, confident lines. Loading dock. Container crane. Office building. Sight lines. Access points.
"David has photos." Tom turned his laptop. "Dozens of them. The warehouse. The boats. People moving containers."
The images scrolled past. Nighttime surveillance shots. Telephoto lens capturing faces. License plates. Boat registrations.
Pride filled his chest, hard and sharp and bittersweet. His brother had documented everything. Built a case that would stand up in federal court.
"This is where we need to look." His certainty solidified. "If David was tracking this operation, he would have maintained surveillance on the warehouse. Something there led to whatever happened to him."
"When?" Tom asked.
"Tonight. Midnight. Darkest approach."
"I'm coming." Cara's voice allowed no argument.
They'd already had this fight. He'd lost. "Fine. But we follow protocol. Stay behind me. No heroics."
She nodded. Agreement that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Piper looked up from her phone. "Wait. You can't just go."
"Why not?"
"Because you're being followed." She said it like he was missing something obvious. "You said multiple vehicles. Different times. What if they’re watching you right now? I mean, you did admit you didn’t see them following you before, until they were on top of you right? They could be outside right now.”
Cara laughed. “She’s not wrong, Sawyer.”
“Copy that.” Gabe moved to the window and scanned the empty street. Between the dark and the fog, he could barely see the beach half a block away. The kid was right. It would be too easy for a surveillance crew to be waiting out there.
He bit back a groan. "We don't have time to wait them out."
"So we need to draw them off," Wade said.
Piper’s eyes lit up. “You mean like set a trap?”
"A diversion," her father corrected.
"No way." Gabe shook his head. "I'm not putting civilians in the line of fire."
"We're already in the line of fire." Reagan's voice was steady. "These jerks trashed Cara's bakery. Plus, they already know we're helping. The only question is whether we help effectively or just wait around to be targets."
The truth of that settled over the group.
Gabe looked at each of them. Tom with his technical skills and careful competence.
Reagan with serious intelligence gathering skills evidenced in a server's notebook. Wade with training he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried.
And even little Piper with her teenage perspective on a problem that needed unconventional solutions.
And Cara, ready to walk into danger for a guy she'd never met.
His counter-intelligence training mapped the assets available. His bureaucratic IA caution screamed to shut this down.
But David's voice echoed in his head. Finish this, Gabe. Finish what Dad started.
He couldn't do it alone. Not in the time he had. Not with the other team tracking his every move.
"Okay." The word came out rough. "We need a way to make them think Cara and I are somewhere else. Keep them busy long enough for us to reach the warehouse, investigate, and get back."
"How long?" Tom asked.
"Two hours. Maybe three."
Piper's face lit with an idea. The kind of expression that probably terrified her dad. "I’ve totally got this. You’re gonna love it."
Which, Gabe was certain, meant the exact opposite. He was beginning to clue in to her teen-speak.
Cara clearly had her doubts, too. She looked from Piper to Tom. “Ummm...”
Grinning hard now, Piper waved a hand in the air. “No worries. I live for this stuff. I got this.”
Cara shrugged helplessly, turning to Gabe. “It’s your mission, Agent.”
He ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Let’s hear it.”
Piper bounced on her toes, hugging her phone to her chest. “Awesome. Listen up, you guys. This is gonna be so epic.”