When Martinez finally emerges from Carver’s makeshift cell, his expression tells me we’ve succeeded.
“Carver broke,” he says quietly. “Gave up everything. Teams, timetables, operational parameters.”
“And?” I prompt.
“One team from Billings, led by a former Ranger, a six-man squad. Another from Idaho Falls, four specialists. Their comm window is 0600 hours. When Drake misses it, they’ll accelerate deployment.”
When Martinez returns to us again, his expression is grim but satisfied.
“Carver’s talking freely now,” he reports quietly, well away from both detention areas. “Kid’s scared. Says he only signed on for executive protection work, not whatever this is.”
“What did he give you?” I check my watch—0430. Ninety minutes until their check-in window.
“Reynolds has a network that goes way beyond normal corrupt judge activities. Arms deals with Mexican cartels, evidence tampering, witness intimidation. But the real money’s in connections to a Serbian weapons dealer named Drazen Kostic.”
Ryan and Jackson exchange glances, recognition flickering in their eyes. Kostic is on multiple international watchlists—a ghost who supplies arms to terrorist groups across three continents.
“The thumb drive Willow has—Carver says it contains everything. Bank transactions, meeting recordings, names, dates.” Martinez continues. “Reynolds isn’t worried about a corruption charge. He’s worried about treason. And the people he works with… They solve problems permanently.”
“That explains the resources he’s deploying to find her,” Ryan observes. “How many people know she’s alive?”
“According to Carver, everyone,” Martinez answers. “Reynolds activated his entire network when she ran. FBI contacts, local sheriffs, and state police. There’s a blanket cover story that she’s mentally unstable, armed, and dangerous.”
I process this information, constructing contingencies in my head. “Did he say anything about satellite coverage or air assets?”
Martinez nods. “Reynolds has a contact in the FBI field office in Helena. They’ve got a BOLO out for Willow, and they’re monitoring air traffic. Carver said any chopper in this region will be tracked.”
“What about Drake?” I ask. “Anything useful?”
Jackson shakes his head. “Stone cold. Won’t give up a thing.”
“Keep trying with the third one?” Ryansuggests.
“No time,” I decide. “We’ve got what we need from Carver. Let’s focus on extraction.”
I process this information, constructing contingencies in my head. “The chopper—where will it land?”
“She won’t make it to the chopper,” Drake says, voice dripping with certainty. “Reynolds has satellite access through his FBI contact. The moment that bird is in the air, they’ll track it.”
“Mason.” Ryan’s voice cuts through the tension. “A word.”
We step outside, leaving Jackson and Martinez to guard the prisoners. The cold hits like a physical blow after the claustrophobic heat of the shed. The pre-dawn sky is beginning to lighten, stars giving way to a slate-gray expanse.
“He’s telling the truth,” Ryan says without preamble. “About Kostic, at least. If Reynolds has that kind of connection…”
“Then this isn’t just about a domestic abuse victim running from her husband,” I finish. “It’s national security.”
Ryan nods grimly. “We need to get that drive to people who can act on it. And we need to get Willow somewhere Reynolds and his network can’t reach her.”
“Ideas?”
“Guardian HRS can help us. I’ve got contacts at their headquarters who operate outside official channels. They specialize in this kind of extraction, including hostage rescue and witness protection. They can provide secure transport, new identity, the works.” He checks his watch. “But we’ve got a more immediate problem.”
“The FBI BOLO.”
“If it’s legitimate, every law enforcement officer in the state will be looking for her. Your place is remote, but not invisible. Reynolds will have given them approximate coordinates by now.”
“We move,” I decide. “Immediately. Bring the chopper to the secondary LZ, northeast ridge. Three-mile hike. It’s higher ground with better defensive positions.”
