Chapter 37
The equipment had arrived at two in the morning as promised, dropped by Reagan's contact at the overlook north of town in a wordless exchange—just two duffel bags that changed everything.
By four-thirty they were on the road, Gabe driving with Cara in the passenger seat while Wade followed in his truck.
They'd prayed together before leaving, Gabe's voice steady as he asked for protection and wisdom and bringing David home safe.
Now, at five-forty-five, they crouched in the tree line half a mile from Cape Mercy Coast Guard Station as the complex emerged from fog and pre-dawn darkness like something out of a nightmare.
Tom's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Guard rotation complete. You have a four-hour window."
Wade moved first, slipping between trees with the confidence of someone who'd done night operations before. Gabe followed, his training from years of counter-intelligence work engaging fully. Cara stayed close behind them, moving quietly through the coastal forest.
The station sat on a rocky point jutting into the Pacific. White buildings weathered by thirty years of salt air and neglect. The watch tower loomed against the lightening sky. The operations building remained dark except for one second-floor window where light spilled out into the darkness.
Wade's voice barely reached him. "That's where they’re keeping him."
Tom spoke through the earpiece. "Two guards main entrance. Rotating every fifteen minutes."
They positioned in shadows at the tree line. Gabe's heart hammered against his ribs under the vest. This was it. No turning back.
Whatever happened next, David came out alive.
Tom's voice stayed steady in their ears. "Guards changing position... now. Move."
They broke from the tree line and approached the north side of the main building where Tom had identified the camera blind spot. Wade reached the fire door first, pulling out a set of lockpicks no fisherman should need.
The lock gave with a soft click that shouldn't have been possible.
Gabe filed that observation with everything else he knew about Wade Patterson.
They moved through the door in formation. Wade took point. Gabe followed with Cara close behind.
The interior smelled like salt and decay. Concrete walls wept condensation. Rust stained everything the color of old blood.
Evidence of recent occupation marked the space—boot prints in the dust, coffee cups on a folding table, a jacket draped over a chair.
They crossed through what had been a ready room and moved into the covered walkway connecting buildings. The structure groaned around them. Decades of neglect and salt air made every sound amplified and threatening.
Gabe's instincts screamed that something was wrong.
The approach had been too easy.
He could tell Wade felt it too. His hand signals became more cautious, his movements more controlled.
The walkway opened into the main operations building. Two stories of administrative offices built to command search and rescue operations across hundreds of miles of coastline.
Gabe scanned the space. Emergency lighting cast everything in sickly green. Exit signs glowed above doors that probably didn't open anymore. The building had died when the Coast Guard pulled out. What remained was just a corpse someone was using.
Static crackled in his earpiece.
"Tom?" Gabe kept his voice low.
More static answered him.
Wade's whisper barely carried. "We lost comms. Could be interference. Could be jamming."
Cara's voice was tight. "Could be a trap."
She was right. Every instinct Gabe had screamed that they'd walked into something prepared and planned.
But David was here. Somewhere in this building. Alive. Turning back wasn't an option.
Gabe made the call. "We keep moving. Eyes open. Watch for—"
Floodlights slammed on.
Blinding white light flooded the space, disorienting, turning the darkness into white-hot exposure. Gabe's hand went to his eyes while his other hand raised his Glock, searching for targets he couldn't see yet.
His vision cleared in fragments. Guards on the balcony above. Three, maybe four. Rifles trained down, and more guards on the ground floor blocking the exits.
A voice echoed from the second floor. "Drop your weapons. Hands where I can see them."
The tenor was unmistakable. Gabe's jaw dropped.
Randy Hale strode up to the railing, belly preceding him.
The lazy, incompetent police chief who'd barely investigated Ruiz's murder. Who'd stood on the beach looking down at the body with all the urgency of a man watching grass grow.
The town police chief. Here.
Beside him, Wade went rigid. "Are you kidding me?"
Cara's breath caught audibly.
He’d fooled them all. The bumbling act had been exactly that—an act. Carefully cultivated incompetence to deflect suspicion.
And Gabe had dismissed him as harmless.
Hale's smile was cold as he looked down at them. Overweight and sweating despite the cold, the belly that spoke of too many free meals strained against his uniform shirt.
His voice carried across the space with absolute confidence. "You should've left town, Sawyer. That's all you had to do."