19 - Dog
After leaving Margaret in the library, Dog joined Warden and Jake in Warden’s sitting room. At precisely ten o’clock in the morning, Warden’s heavy, encrypted laptop came to life. The screen divided neatly into three frames.
In the top left window, Bear and Link appeared, broadcasting from the Mountain View Farm bunker. Link’s eyes were bloodshot and his posture slumped, clearly running on little more than caffeine, while Bear stood behind him like a mountain of grim determination.
The top right window showed Hank and Swede dialing in from their secure compound in Montana.
Occupying the bottom left frame was Will, broadcasting from his home office in Beacon Hill. He looked sharp and completely in his element, surrounded by glowing digital financial charts.
Dog, Warden, and Jake gathered closely around the screen in Maine, their attention fixed on the unfolding connection.
“Sound off,” Bear rumbled, initiating the protocol.
“Montana secure,” Hank replied.
“Beacon Hill secure,” Will added.
“Maine secure,” Dog confirmed. “Let’s have it. Tell me we have a way to end this.”
“We do,” Hank said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a man who had spent the last forty-eight hours calling in every favor he had in Washington.
“Gentlemen, as of this morning, we have compiled enough actionable evidence to hand Charles Winslow over to the FBI and Homeland Security. It’s no longer just a private security matter. He’s looking at federal charges.”
Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Let’s hear the hit list.”
Will took the floor first, shifting some papers on his desk.
“I’ll start with the money. Charles has been running a massive laundering operation to hide his illicit funding.
I’ve spent the last two days peeling back layers of shell companies, mostly registered in the Caymans and Seychelles.
The capital flow is undeniable, but the endpoint is what gets us federal jurisdiction.
I’ve tied the final holding accounts directly to Faisal’s network. ”
Warden let out a low whistle. “He’s funding a known terrorist syndicate.”
“Exactly,” Will nodded. He paused briefly, scanning the grid of faces on his screen. “Any questions on the financial side before I drop off? I don’t have the clearance for the rest of this, nor do I want to know, so I’ll leave the battlefield intel to you all.”
Bear gave a crisp nod. “Thanks, Will. Solid work.”
Similar acknowledgments rippled across the other screens and, with a quick wave, Will’s window went dark.
Swede’s face leaned closer to the camera in Montana.
“Insider trading on a geopolitical scale. Link and I have been cross-referencing Charles’s market maneuvers over the past three years.
The man has a terrifyingly accurate track record of shorting defense contractors and buying into foreign oil right before major global incidents. ”
“He wasn’t guessing,” Link chimed in from the bunker, rubbing his tired eyes.
“He had advanced warning. We found encrypted data packets tying Charles to offshore accounts used to pay freelance assassins and mercenaries. He was funding proxy conflicts and manipulating the stock market based on the fallout.”
Dog frowned as he watched Link rub his eyes. Then he asked, “Did you ever follow up on that eye doctor I recommended? Those tired eyes could definitely use the help.”
Link gave a weary shrug but said nothing. Dog allowed the unspoken answer to slide, filing it away to follow up in private later.
His expression hardened as he shifted back to the matter at hand. “How the hell does a Richmond Heights billionaire get advanced warning on global conflicts and Special Forces movements?”
Hank’s expression darkened. “Because he was buying the playbook directly from the Pentagon. Or rather, extorting it. I pulled some very heavy strings in DC. Met with contacts at the DOJ. We cornered three prominent Senators, all sitting on the Armed Services and Defense Intelligence committees. Charles had them completely compromised with illicit campaign funds and manufactured scandals.”
“Blackmail,” Bear growled.
“He forced them to leak classified intelligence regarding covert ops and troop deployments,” Hank confirmed.
Warden’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek at the sheer scale of the corruption.
Link cleared his throat, the sound harsh in the digital static.
He looked away from the camera for a second, glancing up at Bear before looking back.
“There’s, umm, there’s a specific file you boys in Maine need to know about.
When I was matching Charles’s market shorts against leaked Pentagon ops, I found a data transfer from three months ago. ”
The air in the Maine cabin suddenly chilled. Dog glanced over at Warden. His SEAL team leader went utterly rigid, his eyes locked on Link’s screen, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
“Syria,” Link said quietly. “The extraction mission for Noor and our children. Charles didn’t just know about it. He traded the LZ coordinates and our helo schedules to Faisal’s men. He needed a spike in regional instability to tank a competitor’s oil pipeline.”
The words hung heavy in the air as a brutal confirmation of betrayal.
Link clenched his jaw, his eyes darkening with pain and fury.
It was a raw reminder of the night their helicopter went down, of Sammy and Noor, of the lives lost. Among them were Tank and two distinguished pilots.
It was also a reminder of those forever changed: Dog, Warden, Blast, Nova, and Spider.
A suffocating silence filled the cabin. Dog felt the blood roar in his ears, the phantom smell of burning aviation fuel flooding his senses.
Warden didn’t yell. He didn’t move. But his voice, when he finally spoke, was a terrifying, hollow rasp. “He sold our extraction time.”
“He did,” Hank confirmed heavily. “Charles Winslow is the reason your bird was shot down. He’s the reason Tank is dead.”
Dog watched Warden’s knuckles turn stark white where he gripped the edge of the table. The survivor’s guilt, the nightmares, the shattered team: it wasn’t just bad luck in a war zone. It was a line item on a billionaire’s spreadsheet.
“The DOJ is adding suspicion of murder and treason to the warrants,” Hank continued, cutting through the heavy silence. “The FBI is drawing them up as we speak. But a man like Charles will have a rat in the building. He’s going to know the net is closing before they actually breach his compound.”
“Let him run,” Warden whispered, his eyes dark with a lethal promise. “Please, let him run.”
“Negative, Warden,” Bear’s voice boomed, cutting off the bloodlust. “We do this by the book. But Charles is a cornered animal now. He’s going to panic.”
“Which brings us to the most critical operational priority,” Hank said. “Margaret’s children. Emily and Charles Jr. are currently at the Richmond Heights estate. I’ve made it explicitly clear to the FBI Hostage Rescue Team that the kids are priority one during the raid.”
On the screen, Moose leaned into the frame next to Bear and Link.
“Elena and I are already on it,” Moose said, his voice steady.
“We’re licensed foster parents in the state of Virginia.
Hank’s contacts at the Bureau fast-tracked an emergency placement order.
As soon as the FBI secures the estate, Emily and Charles Jr. are being brought straight here to Mountain View Farm.
They’ll be safe with us until Margaret is cleared to come get them. ”
Dog felt a fraction of the tension release from his chest. “Thank you, Moose. Margaret needs to know they’re protected.”
“Tell her,” Bear said. “But keep your head on a swivel, Dog. The tracker diversion Enzo and Thorn set up will buy us a little time, but we need to assume Charles is going to throw every resource he has left at finding Margaret before the FBI puts him in cuffs. And now he knows you’re the ones guarding her. Lock that cabin down tight.”
The screen went black as Bear terminated the connection, leaving the Maine cabin suffocatingly quiet. The digital hum of the laptop faded, replaced by the crackle of the fireplace and the heavy, uneven breathing of the men who had lost so much to Charles Winslow’s greed.
Warden stared at the blank screen, his expression carved from stone.
Jake sat back, respectfully quiet, giving his brothers-in-arms the space they needed to absorb the devastating truth about the Syrian mission.
He hadn’t been on that deployment, but as he rhythmically rubbed his prosthetic leg, he intimately understood the heavy cost of war and the sting of losing teammates.
Dog closed his eyes tightly, swallowing the lump growing in his throat.
The truth pressed heavily on his chest, threatening to crush him.
He drew in a slow, shaky breath and clenched his fists at his sides, trying to steel himself.
The hardest part of his day was just beginning.
He had to tell Margaret everything: that her husband was a traitor and a murderer, but also that her children were going to live with her now.
He stood up, clapping a heavy hand on Warden’s shoulder. Warden blinked, the lethal edge in his eyes dulling just enough to acknowledge Dog’s presence.
“I need to tell her,” Dog said quietly, keeping his voice even. “She needs to know about the FBI, about Moose and Elena taking the kids and about Charles. But I don’t want to do it in here. The walls are closing in, and all of this is just too much news for a living room couch.”
Warden took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself back to the present. He gave a curt nod.
“Is there anywhere peaceful around here?” Dog asked. “A place we can hike to, maybe take a picnic lunch? I want to get her outside, give her some space to breathe and process the updates in a less stressful environment.”
Warden rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment. The tension in his jaw softened slightly with a fond memory.
“Yeah, there is,” Warden replied, his voice still a bit gravelly.
“Just through the woods to the east of the house, beyond a low hill, there’s a beautiful, wide-open meadow.
It’s still within the property’s perimeter sensors, so it’s safe.
My grandfather absolutely loved that spot.
It was his favorite place in the world to just sit and relax. ”
Warden pointed toward the eastern window.
“He spent an entire summer building a small gazebo out there right in the center of the wildflowers, and he set up a few sturdy wooden benches around the perimeter under the tree line. It’s quiet.
Overlooks a small creek. Thorn and Enzo are still on overwatch, but they’ll give you privacy. Nobody will bother you.”
“Gazebo and benches. Sounds perfect,” Dog said, feeling a small knot of anxiety loosen in his chest. “Thanks, brother. Take the time you need to process. I’ll go pack lunch and find Margaret.”
“Keep your radio on,” Jake chimed in, shifting his focus to the tactical reality. And your eyes open.”
“Always,” Dog promised. He turned and headed toward the kitchen, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. He just hoped the peacefulness of the meadow would be enough to cushion the storm he was about to bring into Margaret’s life.