She stepped forward, voice steady. I saw her get pulled from the water. I saw where they took her.
Ray looked stunned, but not skeptical. He glanced at Thomas, then back at the girl. That night, there was something.
A distress beacon. Unregistered. We logged it.
But then someone from Homeland called and told us to delete the report. Said it was a drill. Where was it? Thomas asked sharply.
Ray walked over to a cabinet inside his boat and pulled out a laminated chart. He circled an area off the coast. Right there.
Near Deadman’s Bluff. That’s where the ping came from. Thomas frowned.
No one followed up? Ray shook his head. After the call, we were told to forget it. Thomas ran a hand through his hair.
Another thread in a web growing too wide, too fast. He turned to Maya. Do you remember hearing any helicopters? She shook her head.
Just engines. Like vans or trucks. Um… Ray handed Thomas the chart.
You going after her? Yes. The old man nodded. Then watch your back.
If they silence this fast, they’ll come for anyone who digs. On the drive back, Maya was quiet. Her fingers traced the edge of the map.
Do you think they knew she’d survive? I think they hoped she wouldn’t, Thomas said. And when she did, they hit her. Why her? Maya asked.
She’s just… your wife. Thomas hesitated. Then said, she wasn’t just a wife.
She was working on a lawsuit tone that could have exposed half a dozen shipping executives for money laundering and human trafficking. She was weeks from going public. Maya turned to him, her eyes wide.
So this wasn’t about you? No, Thomas said. It was about silencing her. Maya sat back, stunned.
They tried to erase her, Thomas nodded. And they almost did, until you saw her. That night, they returned home to find the gates slightly ajar.
Thomas’s instincts screamed. Stay here, he told Maya. He stepped out cautiously, walking toward the door.
It was unlocked. Inside, the lights were still on, but a drawer in the study had been pulled open. Papers spilled on the floor.
Reese arrived minutes later. Someone searched your office. No forced entry.
Whoever did this had a passcode. Thomas clenched his fists. That means someone close.
Maya hovered in the hallway, hugging herself. Thomas turned to her. You okay? She nodded.
They’re watching us, aren’t they? Yes. Good, she whispered. That means they’re scared.
He gave her a small, proud smile. Yeah, it does. Later, as they stood in the quiet living room, Maya looked at the large family portrait over the fireplace Thomas and Elena, laughing in the sun.
She’s still alive, she said. I can feel it. Thomas looked at her, voice low.
Then we find her. No matter what it takes. Uh, outside.
A car idled on the street. A figure inside watching through binoculars. She’s more trouble than we thought, the voice whispered into a phone.
The girl’s memory is too good. Then make it her last, came the reply. The line went dead.
But inside the Beckett house, the fire burned brighter than ever. The following morning, Thomas stood in the driveway, watching the ocean mist roll up the cliffs. He held the map Ray had marked, folding and unfolding it with the same tension he used to crush boardroom deals.
But this was different. This wasn’t profit. It was life.
Elena’s life. And now, Maya’s safety hung in the same balance. Inside, Maya was quietly eating cereal, eyes darting toward every window, every creak of the house settling.
The break-in had shaken her, but not broken her. If anything, it hardened her resolve. She was starting to understand what it meant to be part of something dangerous, something bigger than herself.
Thomas stepped back in and handed her a small object. This is a GPS beacon. Wear it, always.
She turned it over in her palm. You think they’ll try again? I don’t think, I know. Reese entered the room, a tablet in hand.
I ran a scan through every offshore holding connected to the men Elena was about to expose. Shell companies, dummy trusts most were dissolved after the incident. But one, one still active.
He handed the tablet to Thomas, who studied the screen. Ashmont Holdings, registered in Delaware. But the account activity traces back to a supply depot two miles from the site where Maya saw Elena taken.
Maya stood up. So that’s where she is? Thomas nodded. Or where they took her before moving her again.
Either way, we go tonight. Maya looked out the window. What if it’s a trap? Then we spring it on them first.
That night, they drove without headlights down a service road that carved through coastal hills. The vehicle was dark, silent. Reese drove, Thomas navigated, and Maya sat between them with the tablet clutched to her chest.
The depot looked dead from a distance. Just another corrugated warehouse by the sea. No markings, no lights.
But through a pair of long-range binoculars, Thomas saw what he expected. Movement. Two men smoking outside.
Another pacing near the loading bay. All dressed in plain clothes, but standing like soldiers. They parked a quarter mile away and continued on foot, keeping to the shadows.
Maya, now wearing a dark hoodie and gloves, followed their steps exactly, silent and light. Reese motioned them down. Thermal scans show three inside.
One stationary, possibly restrained. Thomas’ heart pounded. Elena? Can’t confirm.
Uh. They crept around the rear, where an old vent provided access to the building’s underbelly. Reese pried it open, and one by one, they slid inside.
The crawlspace was tight and smelled of rust and salt. Maya squirmed through like a cat, her small frame perfectly suited for the narrow path. At the end of the duct, Reese used a fiber-optic camera to peer into the room below.
What do you see? Thomas whispered. He paused, then whispered back. One man standing, arms mechanical.
It’s him. Uh. Maya’s breath caught.
That’s the one. Reese nodded. Another man guarding a woman.
Blonde, tied to a chair. Thomas’ vision blurred for a second. His heart thundered so loud it seemed to fill the narrow space.
We go in hard, Reese said. Quiet. Fast.
They exited the vent into darkness, moving silently behind crates and support beams. Then, with perfect synchronicity, they struck. Reese tackled the guard by the door.
His silencer puffing twice before the man dropped. Thomas rushed toward the woman, tearing duct tape from her mouth. Elena, Elena.
It’s me. Her head lolled weakly, but her eyes focused. Tom? He pulled her into his arms.
I’ve got you. You’re safe. But behind him, a metal click echoed.
Thomas turned. The man with the artificial arms stood there, gun raised, blood dripping from his nose where Reese had struck him. You don’t know what you’re doing.
The man growled. I know exactly what I’m doing, Thomas replied. Shielding Elena, the man sneered.
She had evidence. Names. They paid me to make it disappear, but she wouldn’t die.
Should’ve just let the sea finish the job. Thomas took a step forward, dropped the weapon. Before he could answer, a voice from the shadows barked.
Drop it first. Maya stepped out, a heavy flashlight in both hands. It wasn’t a gun, but she held it like one.
Fearless. You again, the man spat. You’re just a stupid kid.
Maya’s eyes narrowed. Then why are you scared of me? In the moment of distraction, Reese lunged and disarmed the man, knocking him unconscious with a final blow. Thomas turned to Maya, stunned.
You could’ve been hurt, she shrugged. I’m tired of hiding. They carried Elena out through the same vent, her breathing shallow but steady.
Outside, a black van waited Reese’s team had called backup. Medics were ready. As the doors closed, Thomas held Elena’s hand.
You’re safe now. She coughed, barely a whisper. Not all of them.
Gone. Thomas leaned in. What? Her eyes locked on his.
Ashmont, it’s just one. Part. Others.
Watching. He nodded. We’ll find them.