Chapter 2 - The Hunt
I stared at the grainy photograph of the man with the coiled snake tattoo on his throat. His name was Victor Vance, a former private military contractor who specialized in quiet assassinations. I memorized the address of the cheap roadside motel printed at the bottom of the intelligence file. "Captain Miller, you are to remain here and secure the perimeter of this diner," I ordered immediately. Miller nodded sharply and unclipped his radio to call in a security detail from the base. I walked over to my mother and gently squeezed her uninjured hand. "I need you to stay with the Captain and keep the doors locked until I return," I told her. She looked deeply worried but she understood that I had to find the truth about my father. I walked out the back door of the kitchen and climbed into my rented pickup truck. The drive to the Starlight Motel took less than five minutes through the empty backroads of the county. The motel was a rundown building with flickering neon signs and weeds growing through the cracked parking lot. I parked a block away and quietly made my way through the shadows of the neighboring alley. According to the file, Vance was renting room number seven at the end of the second-floor balcony. I climbed the rusted iron stairs, keeping my footsteps light and completely silent. The door to room seven was slightly ajar, casting a thin slice of yellow light onto the concrete walkway. I drew my concealed sidearm and pushed the heavy wooden door open with the toe of my boot. The room was entirely trashed, with overturned chairs and torn bedsheets scattered across the dirty carpet. I cleared the bathroom and the small closet, but the mercenary was nowhere to be found. On the small wooden desk near the window, I noticed a laptop screen glowing softly in the dark. I approached the desk and saw a live video feed playing on the computer monitor. The camera was pointed directly at the front entrance of my mother’s diner. I felt a sudden knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach. I tapped the keyboard and discovered a secondary video feed on a delayed loop. It showed Sheriff Harper loading heavy duffel bags into the trunk of a marked police cruiser. Beside the laptop sat a single piece of customized stationery bearing the Cain Realty Group logo. Written on the paper was a set of GPS coordinates and a terrifyingly simple message. The note said that the soldier was distracted and the extraction could proceed as planned. I grabbed my phone and instantly dialed Captain Miller’s secure tactical number. The line rang three times before connecting, but nobody spoke on the other end. "Miller, report your status immediately," I demanded into the receiver. Instead of the Captain’s crisp voice, I heard the heavy, mocking laughter of Wade Cain. "Your officer fought bravely, Colonel, but he was heavily outnumbered," Wade chuckled darkly. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the phone line, followed by a muffled scream from Kayla. "If you ever want to see your mother alive again, you will bring yourself to those coordinates," Wade threatened. The line suddenly went dead, leaving me standing in the silent motel room. I sprinted out of the room and vaulted over the second-floor balcony railing without hesitating. I landed hard on the pavement, rolled to absorb the impact, and ran full speed toward my truck. As I jammed the key into the ignition, I heard a faint, rhythmic ticking sound coming from the backseat.
