Chapter 6 - The Hostage
I stared at the encrypted text message, my tactical mind shifting entirely away from the treasonous Admiral and focusing entirely on the immediate threat.
Julian Whitmore hadn't gotten cold feet on his wedding day.
He had been actively abducted from a heavily guarded estate right under his father's nose.
“Richard,” I said sharply, stepping directly into his personal space.
“Your son has just been taken hostage.”
Richard’s arrogant facade completely crumbled, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated terror of a desperate father.
“What are you talking about?” he stammered, frantically looking around the foyer.
I held my phone up so he could read the demanding message.
“Someone wants the shipping manifests for your illegal weapons network, and they are using Julian as collateral to get them.”
Melanie began sobbing hysterically, collapsing into my sister’s arms on the marble floor.
My father looked completely baffled, entirely unable to comprehend the violent, dangerous world that had just crashed into his perfect family event.
“Who took him?” Richard demanded, his voice cracking.
“I don't know,” I replied honestly.
“But if they breached this perimeter without your elite security team noticing, they are highly trained professionals.”
Jack stepped up beside me, his eyes scanning the terrified crowd in the foyer.
“Admiral, we need to secure the perimeter and lock down the estate,” Jack advised quietly.
“No one leaves until we figure out how they got him out.”
I nodded in agreement, fully assuming command of the chaotic situation.
“Jack, take fifty men and sweep the grounds,” I ordered.
“I want a complete perimeter lockdown, and I want every vehicle thoroughly searched.”
“Understood, Admiral,” Jack replied, immediately barking orders to his highly disciplined SEALs.
I turned back to Richard, who was currently yelling at his remaining security contractors.
“I need access to your secure servers, Richard,” I demanded.
“If you want your son back alive, you have to give me the shipping manifests they are asking for.”
Richard hesitated, clearly torn between saving his son and exposing his treasonous empire to a flag officer.
“If I give you those manifests, Admiral Vance will have me executed for treason,” Richard whispered, terrified.
“If you don't give them to me, Julian will be dead in an hour,” I countered coldly.
Richard swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping in absolute defeat.
“Follow me,” he muttered, turning toward a hidden door behind the grand staircase.
I followed him down a dark, narrow hallway that led to a heavily fortified panic room hidden deep inside the mansion.
Richard bypassed the biometric locks and ushered me into a room filled with high-tech servers and encrypted communication arrays.
He quickly logged into his primary terminal and printed a thick stack of highly classified shipping documents.
“This is everything,” Richard said, handing me the papers with trembling hands.
“It details every illegal shipment, the buyer's identities, and the exact coordinates of the offshore drop points.”
I took the papers, knowing I was now holding the most dangerous intelligence in the entire country.
“I will get your son back,” I promised him, turning to leave the panic room.
As I walked back out into the grand foyer, I saw my father standing near the front doors, looking incredibly small and terrified.
“Claire,” he called out, his voice completely devoid of its usual arrogance.
“Please, just let the police handle this.”
“You are going to get yourself killed.”
I stopped walking and looked at the man who had spent thirty-six years trying to break my spirit.
“The police cannot help us now, Dad,” I said softly.
“This is exactly what you trained me for.”
I walked out the front doors and into the chaotic driveway, where Jack was organizing his tactical teams.
“We found a breach in the back fence, Admiral,” Jack reported.
“Tire tracks indicate they headed toward the industrial docks downtown.”
“Load up,” I commanded, clutching the shipping manifests tightly against my chest.
“We are going to get the groom back.”
We piled back into the black SUVs, leaving the confused, terrified wedding guests behind at the estate.
We drove aggressively through the rain-slicked streets of Charleston, heading straight for the abandoned shipping yards on the edge of the city.
We pulled up to Pier 47, a massive, rusted warehouse completely surrounded by empty cargo containers.
I stepped out of the vehicle, drawing my service pistol and signaling Jack’s men to fan out and surround the building.
The massive metal door of the warehouse slowly creaked open.
A single figure stepped out into the pouring rain, holding a suppressed assault rifle.
May you like
But it wasn't a foreign terrorist or a cartel hitman.
It was my younger sister, Melissa.
