Bill Blackwell, the team’s communications specialist, cracked open a laptop. «Let me see what I can dig up.»
For the next two hours, as the transport droned steadily across the Atlantic, Bill worked his magic. What he found painted an ugly, sprawling picture.
«The Barajas brothers aren’t small-time,» Bill said finally. «They’re part of a larger network. Their uncle, Valentine Vaughn, runs a drug distribution operation across three counties. The brothers are his enforcers. And get this: Ridgefield’s Police Chief, Peter Sharp, has a brother-in-law who worked for Vaughn. The whole department is compromised.»
«How compromised?» Scott asked.
«There were three complaints filed against the Barajas brothers in the last two years. Assault, domestic violence, intimidation. All of them disappeared from the system. No follow-up. No charges.»
Scott felt the ice in his chest spread, numbing everything except the mission parameters. This wasn’t just about getting Tommy safe anymore. This was about dismantling an entire network that believed it was untouchable.
«All right,» he said quietly. «Then we do this the hard way.»
They landed at Portland International at 0600 local time. Scott had called ahead to his old Army buddy, Horace Pierce, who’d left the service two years earlier to open a security consulting firm in nearby Vancouver, Washington. Horace met them at the airport with two black SUVs, asking no questions.
«Good to see you, Ice,» Horace said, gripping Scott’s hand firmly. «Heard you needed some support.»
«Always do,» Scott replied. «What do you know about Ridgefield?»
«Small town, big problems. The Vaughn operation is the worst-kept secret in the county. They move meth and heroin up from California, distribute it through the I-5 corridor. Everyone knows. Nobody does anything.»
They drove to Ridgefield in a convoy, rolling into town just after sunrise. Scott directed them past the small downtown strip, past the local diner and the hardware store, to the neighborhood where Tammy lived. It was a modest area, full of working-class homes with chain-link fences and lawns that looked tired.
Tammy’s house was a small blue rambler at the end of a cul-de-sac. Scott’s throat tightened painfully as he saw Tommy’s bike lying in the front yard, one wheel slowly spinning in the morning breeze.
«Eyes open,» Vince murmured over the comms. «Black Escalade, three houses down, two men inside.»
Scott had already clocked them. Watchers. The Barajas brothers weren’t taking chances.
«Bernie, Felix, you’re with me. Everyone else, maintain position and surveillance. Bill, get eyes in the sky.»
Bill had brought a commercial drone, small enough to be invisible against the glare but powerful enough to give them a complete tactical picture of the neighborhood. Scott approached the front door, his team flanking him. He knocked three times—firm, authoritative, but not aggressive.
The door opened a crack, and Tammy’s face appeared. She looked significantly older than he remembered, with dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes and a fresh mark on her cheekbone that makeup didn’t quite hide.
«Scott?» Her voice cracked. «What are you… Where’s Tommy?»
She glanced fearfully over her shoulder, then stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. «You can’t be here. Gilberto—»
«Where is Tommy?»
«He’s at school. Scott, please, you need to leave. You don’t know what these people are capable of.»
«Then tell me.»
Tammy’s hands shook as she wrapped her arms around herself. «I didn’t know, not at first. Gilberto was charming, attentive. He had money. I thought… I thought he was a contractor or something. By the time I figured out what he really did, I was already in too deep.»
Tears spilled down her cheeks. «He said if I left him, if I went to the police, his family would hurt Tommy. Hurt me. I saw what they did to a woman who testified against Rafael. She disappeared, Scott. They found her car in a ravine two months later, but they never found her.»
«How long has he been hurting Tommy?»
«Three months. It started with yelling, then pushing. Last week he…» She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Scott felt Felix’s hand on his shoulder, a steadying weight. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost gentle. «Tammy, I need you to trust me. Can you get Tommy out of school early? Say it’s a family emergency.»
«Gilberto will know. He has people watching.»
«Let them watch. What time does Tommy get out of school normally?»
«Three o’clock.»
«Where’s Gilberto now?»
«He left this morning. He said he had business.» She looked at Scott with a fragile, desperate hope. «Can you really get us out of this?»
«I’m going to do better than that,» Scott said. «I’m going to make sure they never hurt anyone again.»
After Tammy went back inside, Scott and his team returned to the SUVs. Bill had the drone footage pulled up on his laptop screen.
«Got something interesting,» Bill said. «There’s a warehouse on the industrial side of town. Lot of traffic coming and going. Our friends in the Escalade have been in radio contact with someone there.»
«Vaughn’s operation?» Felix asked.
«Most likely. But there’s more. I pulled property records. The warehouse is owned by a shell company, but I traced it back. Guess who’s listed as a silent partner?»
«Don’t tell me,» Vince muttered. «Police Chief Peter Sharp.»
«Not directly. It’s buried under his wife’s maiden name and three other LLCs. But it’s there.»
Scott nodded slowly. «So we’re dealing with a criminal enterprise with police protection. They think they’re bulletproof.»
«What’s the play?» Bernie asked.
Scott looked at his team, these men who had followed him into hell more times than he could count. «We go to Tommy’s school, secure him first. Then we start taking apart their operation, piece by piece. But we do it smart. We document everything. Build a case that can’t be ignored. And when they come for us—and they will—we make sure we’re ready.»
«And if they don’t give us a choice?» Vince asked quietly.
Scott’s eyes were cold as winter in Montana. «Then we handle it the way we handled Mosul.»
Ridgefield Elementary was a sprawling brick building surrounded by playgrounds and portable classrooms. Scott walked into the main office at 1400 hours, alone and in civilian clothes: jeans, a flannel shirt, and a baseball cap. He looked like any other parent.
«Can I help you?» the secretary, a pleasant woman in her fifties, asked.
«I’m Scott Kane, Tommy Kane’s father. I’m here to pick him up early. Family emergency.»
The secretary’s fingers flew across her keyboard. «I’ll need to see ID, and I need to verify you’re on the approved pickup list.»
Scott handed over his driver’s license. The secretary studied it, then her screen, and frowned.
«I’m sorry, Mr. Kane, but you’re not on the list. Only his mother and…» she paused, uncomfortable, «and Mr. Barajas are authorized.»
«I’m his father. I have joint custody.»
«I understand, sir, but we need to follow protocol. If you can have Tommy’s mother call us and add you to the list…»
Scott leaned forward slightly, his voice low but urgent. «Ma’am, my son called me yesterday and told me he’s being hurt. I flew halfway around the world to protect him. Now, you can call the police if you want—I’d actually appreciate that—but I’m not leaving without my son.»
The secretary’s face went pale. She had seen the bruises on Tommy Kane. She had reported them herself to Child Protective Services two weeks ago. Nothing had happened. She had been told the case was «under review.»
«Let me get the principal,» she said quietly.
Principal Joan Andrews was a no-nonsense woman in her sixties who had been in education for forty years. She listened to Scott’s story, saw the military ID that confirmed he was who he claimed, and made a decision.
«I’ll release Tommy to you,» she said. «But I’m also calling CPS and the Oregon State Police. This situation needs to be investigated properly.»
«I’d expect nothing less,» Scott said. «Thank you.»
Twenty minutes later, Tommy Kane walked out of his classroom, saw his father standing in the hallway, and broke into a run. Scott caught him, held him tight, and felt the boy’s small body shaking against his chest.
«You came?» Tommy whispered.
«Always, buddy. Always.»
As they walked to the SUV where Felix waited, Scott examined his son. Tommy had a fading bruise on his arm, and another on his ribs visible when his shirt rode up. Rage burned in Scott’s chest, white-hot, but he kept his voice calm.
«You’re safe now,» he told Tommy. «Nobody’s going to hurt you again.»
They drove to a motel on the outskirts of town, a place Bill had scouted earlier. The team had taken four adjoining rooms, turning them into a makeshift operations center. Horace had brought additional supplies, surveillance equipment, secure communications gear, and enough provisions to sustain them for two weeks.
Tommy sat on one of the beds, eating pizza while Vince showed him pictures of his own daughters. Scott stepped outside with Bill and Bernie.
«Police Chief just got a call from the school,» Bill said, monitoring the scanner. «He’s dispatching two officers to Tammy’s house.»
«Good,» Scott said. «Let them do their job. We stay clean, but I want eyes on that warehouse tonight. Full surveillance. Who comes, who goes, what they’re moving.»