Chapter 12
The numbers finally made sense.
Sarah pushed her glasses up her nose and stared at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs. Three hours of following digital breadcrumbs through offshore accounts and shell companies with Griff's military internet, and finally the pattern emerged from the chaos.
"No," she breathed. "That can't be right."
Griff materialized from the shadows. "What is it?" His voice carried that steady calm that both irritated and reassured her.
She ran the query again, hoping she'd made an error. The same results appeared. "This doesn't make sense. Look at these transactions."
She pulled up screen after screen. "Stillwater isn't receiving payments for contracts. They're PAYING money out. Massive amounts. To FBI accounts. DOJ accounts. Pentagon accounts."
Griff leaned closer, and she caught that scent of gun oil and coffee that was becoming familiar. His eyes tracked across the data with the focus of someone who understood the implications immediately.
"They're not working for the government," Sarah said, the words tumbling out as the full magnitude hit her. "They're buying it. Systematic bribery on a scale I've never seen."
Sarah pulled up more data, her mind racing. "But why? Why would Stillwater—or whoever's using them as a front—pour money INTO government accounts?"
"Bribery," Griff said immediately.
"But these amounts..." She calculated quickly. "We're talking millions per account. That's not only buying silence or cooperation."
"It's buying operations." Griff's expression darkened. "Tank found that biological passport scheme—selling military identities to the highest bidder. What if there are other revenue streams?"
"They collect money from selling the passports, then funnel it back as bribes to keep the pipeline open. But that doesn't explain the scale—"
"Unless they're not just selling passports." Griff leaned closer. "What else could you do with military biological data?"
The implications made Sarah's stomach turn. "Medical research. Genetic targeting. Identity theft on a massive scale."
"And every one of these accounts represents someone who's either facilitating or turning a blind eye."
Sarah stared at the screen. "What if they’re buying cooperation with someone else’s money?”
He frowned, shaking his head.
“Obviously, Stillwater is receiving payment for services rendered.” She air-quoted the last phrase. “But what if they’re getting ‘pass through funds’ as well?”
His lips parted. Comprehension dawning. “You mean like I give you money to do a job, and extra to bribe whoever you need to.”
“Exactly. Maybe I can’t risk giving bribes myself. I pay you a little extra to do it for me.” She sighed. “Without names, we’re speculating. We need to know who these accounts belong to."
His voice went deadly quiet. "Tell me where to go. Who to threaten."
"That's the problem. The payments go to numbered accounts, then get routed through—" She stopped, a new pattern emerging. "Wait. These routing numbers. They're all coming from one FBI server farm."
Her pulse quickened. "The secondary facility in Arlington. The one I use for archived case files."
"No." Griff straightened, crossing his arms. "Absolutely not."
"I have clearance there. I know the layout."
"A federal facility full of people who might be on Stillwater's payroll."
Sarah stood, ignoring the protest from her injured ankle. "Without those names, all we have is money moving through accounts. With them, we have proof of who's been bought."
"We need to think about this—"
"Think about what? We can't stay here forever." The frustration that had been building boiled over. "Every hour we wait, they could be destroying evidence, killing witnesses. How many people are dying while we hide?"
"None of them are my responsibility."
"What about Tank? Isn't finding his killer your responsibility?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "Careful."
But Sarah was too deep into the data to stop.
"Look at this." She pulled up another screen.
"Three payments to Pentagon accounts. Each one week before a VA patient disappeared. That means we’re only seeing the outflow side.
For that much money to move, there has to be an inflow—someone powerful feeding their slush fund. "
His fist slammed into the wall hard enough to shake the paintings. Sarah jumped.
"Show me," he said, voice controlled again but darker.
She pulled up the correlation data. "For at least two years. Maybe longer." Sarah pulled up more data. "And look at this—a payment to an FBI account two days before I was assigned to Montana."
That stopped him cold. "They bought your death."
"Or tried to." She met his eyes. "We need those names, Griff. This is bigger than Tank now. This is treason at the highest levels."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying the data. "This Arlington facility. Tell me what you know about it."
"It's a data backup site. Server farms, mostly.
I've been there maybe a dozen times over two years, but only during business hours.
" Sarah pulled up what she could remember.
"Badge access at the main entrance, sign-in at the security desk.
They'd escort me to the research terminal room—never the actual server rooms."
"So you don't have access to where we need to go."
"No. And even if I did..." She paused, the reality hitting her. "By now the Chechens know I escaped. Whoever sent them knows I'm not dead. My clearance is probably flagged across every federal facility."
"Definitely flagged." Griff pulled up a map of Arlington on his tablet. "Using your credentials would trigger every alarm they have."
Her plan crumbled. "So we can't get in."
"I didn't say that." He studied the building's exterior on satellite view. "Federal facilities have patterns. Maintenance schedules, shift changes, contractor access points. Things the FBI doesn't think about because they're focused on keeping out criminals, not professionals."
"You want to break into a federal facility without my access?"
"Your access was never going to work. This was always going to be a hard infiltration." He glanced at her. "The question is whether you're prepared for what that means."
Sarah's stomach tightened. "Which is?"
"If we get caught, we're terrorists as far as the government’s concerned." Griff set down the tablet. "Still want to do this?"
Sarah thought about the accounts, the bribes, the conspiracy that had nearly killed her. Tank's death. All the deaths that would follow if they didn't get those names. Please, Lord, she prayed silently. Give me the strength and the wisdom to pull this off. To see justice done.
Then she squared her shoulders and adjusted her glasses. “One hundred percent.”
“Okay, then.” Griff pulled up a map of Arlington on his tablet. "Federal facilities have patterns. Maintenance schedules, shift changes, contractor access points. Things the FBI doesn't think about because they're focused on keeping out criminals, not professionals."
"We need your team." She couldn’t stop herself.
"No." The word came out sharp enough to cut.
"Griff, this is insane. Two people against a conspiracy this size?"
"You saw the surveillance photos. They're watching my people, waiting for me to make contact." He pulled up the dark web intel on his tablet. "Look at the timestamps. Round-the-clock surveillance on Ronan's house. The Knight Tactical hangar. Even tracking Maya's morning runs."
Sarah studied the images. "This had to cost a fortune. The manpower alone—"
"Which tells you how badly they want to know when I surface. And now you." Griff's jaw tightened. "The second we reach out, everyone involved dies."
"All the more reason to warn them."
"Warn them of what? That there's danger? They know that. They've known since Tank died." He turned to face her. "The only thing contacting them would accomplish is putting them directly in the crosshairs. If I stay away, whoever’s pulling the strings can only guess who’s after them."
Sarah absorbed this. "So we get the names first. Then you can contact your team with actionable intelligence."
"Exactly. Not paranoid warnings from their AWOL teammate."
"They don't think you're paranoid."
"They think I'm lost in my grief. And maybe I was, for a while." He met her eyes. "But now I have a trail to follow. And I'm not dragging them into it until I know exactly where it leads."
"All the more reason to get those names."
"Agreed. But we do it without painting bigger targets on my team." He pulled out his encrypted phone, showing her a message thread. "Look at this."
The messages were from someone called 'Needles':
Weather's clear if you need wings
Hangar 7 still available
No questions asked, brother
"Pilot friend?"
"Former Marine aviator. Flies charter now. He's offering to extract us if needed."
"That's good—"
"That's him taking a risk he shouldn't have to take." Griff pocketed the phone. "These guys already picked off one of us. I won't add to that number."
Sarah saw the weight he carried then, the guilt that drove him. "Tank's death wasn't your fault."
"Tank died because he trusted the system. Trusted his backup. Trusted that doing the right thing would protect him." His voice hardened. "I won't make that mistake."
"So you'll trust no one?"
"Besides my team? No way. But I'll trust you," he said simply. "Because you have as much to lose as I do. And because you've already proven you can think tactically, not just analytically."
Sarah saw the trap he'd walked himself into. He needed the names to protect his team, but getting the names meant taking risks he wasn't willing to take.
"So we go to Arlington," she said. "Get the names. Then you call your team with actual intel."
He was quiet for so long she thought he might refuse entirely. Finally: "How long to drive there?"
She pulled up a map onscreen. "From Montana? Thirty-six hours if we're careful."
He rubbed his chin, the sound of his palm against stubble filling the room. "Make that Forty-eight. We'll need to switch vehicles, avoid main routes. Garafolo’s got a serios SUV in the garage, and enough armament to defend this place for months. We’ll leave as soon as I pack. Drive in shifts."
"What? But—"
"Every minute we wait increases the chance they'll find this place. You've been pinging banking servers for three hours. Even with encryption, that leaves traces."
Sarah's stomach dropped. She'd been so focused on finding answers she hadn't thought about digital footprints. “You pack the weapons, I’ll make the coffee.”
“Deal.” He stretched, reaching his long arms skyward and arching his back. A warrior prepping for action. “No sugar. And light on the cream.”
She sketched him a salute, wishing her arm wasn’t shaking. “Sir. Yes, sir.”
How was it that barely 30 hours ago, she’d given Harold one last dribble of water and locked the door of her boring apartment, and now she was in a billionaire’s safe house with a real-life action hero, planning a break in?
She pressed her hand to the cross around her neck.
Wherever her Savior led, she’d follow.