Chapter 4 - Derek Was Never an Accident
Derek’s father was named Victor Kane.
I remembered him now.
Not clearly.
A civilian contractor.
Forties.
Dark beard.
Always wore sunglasses even indoors.
I had seen him twice.
Maybe three times.
He worked logistics.
Or claimed to.
“He died overseas,” Claire said.
Marcus nodded.
“Officially.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That word doesn’t mean much tonight.”
“Victor is dead.”
“You sure?”
“I saw the body.”
“Apparently funerals can be misleading.”
Marcus absorbed the insult.
Fair.
“What does Derek know?” I asked.
“Probably very little.”
“Probably?”
“Creed recruited Victor. Victor moved money, weapons, equipment.”
“Derek followed Claire because of his father?”
“No.”
Marcus hesitated.
“At least I didn’t think so.”
That was unacceptable.
“You encouraged her to get close to him.”
“Yes.”
“Because his father was connected.”
“Yes.”
“So he was never just convenient.”
“No.”
Claire looked at Marcus.
“You told me it was coincidence.”
“I told you what you needed to believe.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
Marcus didn’t react.
Good.
Someone should have done it years ago.
My phone buzzed.
11:48.
Twelve minutes.
Gabe sent another message.
MOVEMENT.
I looked at Marcus.
“We go.”
The Hawthorne Mill looked exactly like the type of place movie kidnappers loved.
Broken windows.
Rusting metal.
Huge empty manufacturing floor.
Except this was real.
Real meant mistakes had consequences.
Gabe met us behind an abandoned gas station.
Two of his men waited there.
Former military.
Disciplined.
I explained quickly.
“Kidnapped adult son. At least six hostiles. Possible federal involvement. We do not initiate unless necessary.”
Gabe studied Marcus.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Popular reaction tonight.”
“No time.”
Gabe handed me a small radio.
Claire grabbed my arm.
“You can’t go in there alone.”
“I’m not.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ll bring Ryan out.”
“How can you promise that?”
“I can’t.”
She hated that answer.
But it was truthful.
I touched her hand.
“Stay with Gabe’s team.”
She nodded.
I started away.
“Ethan.”
I turned.
She whispered, “Come back too.”
For the first time in six months, I wanted to believe there might still be something waiting for me if I did.
Marcus came beside me.
“No.”
He frowned.
“You stay.”
“They asked for both of us.”
“They asked for the journal.”
“And Vale.”
“I can bring them one.”
“You won’t get Ryan.”
“Maybe.”
He stepped closer.
“This began with me.”
“No.”
I looked toward the mill.
“It began with Creed.”
Then I walked.
Front entrance.
Visible.
Hands empty.
Journal tucked beneath my jacket.
A man appeared on the second-floor catwalk.
Rifle.
“Stop.”
I stopped.
“Journal?”
I raised it.
“Where’s my son?”
“Inside.”
“Show me.”
Lights came on.
Ryan sat twenty yards away.
Chair.
Hands bound.
Alive.
He saw me.
“Dad!”
“I’m here.”
A voice echoed from above.
Older.
Calm.
“Ethan Mercer.”
I knew it before seeing him.
General Thomas Creed.
He stepped onto the catwalk.
Seventy-one now.
White hair.
Dark coat.
Still carried himself like a commander.
“General.”
“Sergeant Major.”
“Retired.”
“As am I.”
“Apparently retirement hobbies have changed.”
Creed smiled.
Ryan shouted, “Dad, don’t give him anything!”
Someone hit the back of Ryan’s chair.
Not Ryan.
Warning.
My entire body tightened.
Creed saw it.
“Your son has spirit.”
“Let him go.”
“The journal.”
“Then Ryan.”
Creed nodded.
Two men untied him.
Ryan stood.
“Walk.”
He moved toward me.
Halfway.
Creed raised his hand.
Ryan stopped.
“Journal.”
“No.”
Creed sighed.
“You always were difficult.”
“You kidnapped my son.”
“I created leverage.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Semantics.”
“Not to a jury.”
He laughed.
“Do you imagine this ends in court?”
“I imagine many things.”
Creed’s smile faded.
“Where is Vale?”
“Dead.”
“Again?”
“Seems to be a habit.”
Creed nodded slowly.
“He’s nearby.”
I said nothing.
“Of course he is.”
I watched Ryan.
Ten yards.
Maybe less.
“Let him cross.”
“Journal first.”
I pulled it out.
Held it up.
“This?”
Creed leaned forward.
“Yes.”
I tore out one page.
His face changed.
“Careful.”
Then another.
“What are you doing?”
“Negotiating.”
“You don’t understand what you have.”
“I understand enough.”
I held a page near a small lighter.
“Ryan crosses.”
Creed stared at me.
Then nodded.
Ryan moved.
Slowly.
Five yards.
Three.
One of Creed’s men shifted.
Wrong.
I saw his hand.
Radio.
Signal.
Gabe whispered in my earpiece.
“Two moving rear.”
Ambush.
Of course.
“Ryan,” I said.
He looked at me.
“When I say down.”
His eyes widened.
Creed heard.
“Don’t.”
A man reached for Ryan.
“DOWN!”
Ryan dropped.
Everything happened at once.
Lights went out.
Gabe.
Smoke erupted from the left side.
Marcus appeared on the opposite catwalk.
Creed shouted.
Someone fired.
The round hit steel.
I reached Ryan.
Dragged him behind machinery.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Stay low.”
“Dad—”
“Stay.”
Marcus’s voice echoed.
“Creed!”
Then gunfire stopped.
Emergency lights flickered.
Creed stood behind a steel column.
Marcus across from him.
Two ghosts from the same war.
“You should have stayed dead,” Creed shouted.
Marcus answered, “You should have let the dead stay buried.”
Gabe’s team secured two armed men near the rear.
Another fled.
I kept Ryan down.
Creed disappeared from view.
Then Marcus moved.
Too fast.
Following.
“Vale!”
He ignored me.
I chased.
Up metal stairs.
Across catwalk.
Creed entered an office.
Marcus followed.
Door slammed.
I reached it.
Locked.
Inside, men shouted.
Then one gunshot.
Silence.
I kicked the door.
Again.
Gabe reached me.
Together we forced it open.
Marcus lay on the floor.
Blood on his shoulder.
Alive.
Creed stood by an open window.
Gun in hand.
But he wasn’t pointing it at us.
He was pointing it at himself.
“No,” Marcus said.
Creed looked at me.
“You think this was about money?”
I froze.
“What was it about?”
“The money was nothing.”
“Then what?”
Creed laughed softly.
“The convoy carried something else.”
“What?”
He looked at my journal.
“You wrote it down without knowing.”
Then he stepped backward through the open window.
Gabe lunged.
Too late.
Creed fell into darkness.
We ran to the window.
Below was a river channel swollen from recent rain.
No body visible.
Marcus gripped his bleeding shoulder.
I opened the journal.
“What did I write?”
He stared at page 147.
“I don’t know.”
“You said it contained proof.”
“Of the money.”
“Creed said something else.”
Ryan entered the office.
“Dad.”
I turned.
He held something.
A small black flash drive.
“Where did you get that?”
“The guy guarding me dropped it.”
Marcus looked at it.
His face changed.
“What?”
May you like
He whispered, “That belongs to Victor Kane.”
And from the darkness below, a vehicle engine suddenly roared to life.
