Page 210
“What was he using it for?”
Thomas looks toward Mom.
“Moving weapons through private marinas. Later, people.”
Mom closes her eyes.
“Daniel found out.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t James go to the authorities?”
“He did. Every report went through Donald Cross’s office.”
Donald wasn’t merely protected by people inside the Coast Guard.
He was the person receiving the accusations against himself.
“And Kessler?” I ask.
“He was a young investigator assigned to review James’s claims.”
“He buried them.”
Thomas nods.
The tactical feed activates before anyone can speak again.
Ben and the federal team arrive at the marine salvage yard.
The property is surrounded by a corrugated metal fence. Rusted boats sit on blocks inside the yard. Stacks of propellers, engines and damaged hulls form narrow paths between the buildings.
No lights burn in the main office.
No vehicles are visible.
“Too quiet,” Scott says.
Ben kneels beside tire tracks near the gate.
“Motorcycle entered recently.”
Simon came here.
A federal agent cuts the lock.
The team enters.
Marcus directs them past the office toward a long metal structure at the rear of the property.
“That’s the surface entrance,” he says.
“Where are the guards?” Marquez’s tactical commander asks.
“There should be two at the gate and one inside.”
They find the first guard unconscious behind a stack of engines.
