Page 105 of Steel Vengeance

Pat hauled out his phone and dialed 911. Stitch stood beside him, fists clenched, his heart thudding with the violent rhythm of helpless rage. Every second that passed without Sloane felt like a knife twisting deeper into his gut.

Twenty minutes later, the cavalry arrived.

A local sheriff named McCloskey took charge, asking them rapid-fire questions. They explained the situation: a wanted felon and rogue CIA agent had abducted a key witness, and they feared for her life. It was imperative they get her back.

Pat was on his phone again, calling his CIA contact, Stuart Rider. It wasn’t long before a cavalcade of blacked-out SUVs swarmed the motel parking lot, drawing stares from every guest still lingering near their rooms.

“We’ll have the press here soon,” McCloskey groaned, adjusting his hat.

Stitch didn’t care. Whatever it took to get Sloane back.

For the first time in his life, he felt utterly useless. This wasn’t his neck of the woods. He had no contacts here, no strings to pull, no networks to exploit. He had to trust the authorities to do their job. But trusting others had never been his strong suit—it felt like everything was moving in slow motion, and meanwhile, God only knew what was happening to Sloane.

Back at the CIA field office, they reviewed CCTV footage from outside the motel.

“Sullivan’s driving a gray Chevrolet,” Pat pointed out, his finger tapping the screen. “We got the plates.”

They immediately put out an APB on the vehicle, but an hour later, the news came in—the car had been found abandoned in an industrial area, miles away.

“He must’ve had a second vehicle waiting, or someone helping him,” Stitch muttered. “We need to look at his known associates. There has to be a lead.”

An agent at a nearby desk typed furiously on his keyboard, eyes scanning data as he worked. “Sullivan’s got a long list of contacts. He knows almost everyone in the local CIA field office and probably has half a dozen unofficial informants and associates.”

Stitch swore under his breath. Sullivan had been operating under the radar for so long, hiding his true self behind his cover as a respected agent. Now they were up against a man who knew the system better than anyone.

Fuck. They had to find a lead.

“What about properties?” said Stitch. “Does he own any properties, cabins, warehouses, anything like that?”

“He owns two houses in D.C.,” the agent responded. “One his wife and kid live in, the other is his official residence. But nothing else that we know of.”

Stitch racked his brain. What did they know about Matthew? “If he’s moving drugs, he needs a place to store them. A container yard, a warehouse—something. They’ve been moving shipments for years, so there’s gotta be a system in place.”

“We’ve got the names of his cohorts from Ghost Company, but most of them are off the grid. We’re tracking down leads now.”

Stitch nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was something. His gut told him that Sullivan wouldn’t disappear without tying up his loose ends. “Maybe one of them hired a warehouse or storage space somewhere?”

“Looking into it,” said a petite female agent. “I’m running their names now.”

Stitch was impressed by how efficient the department was. He had no idea which branch of the CIA this was or what they were called, but Rider was a solid leader, and his team seemed loyal, smart, and capable.

Which made it all the more surprising that a rotten apple like Matthew had operated unnoticed for so long.

“We had no idea he was dirty,” Rider said, almost as if he’d read Stitch’s mind. “The first we heard was when Pat walked into my office last week. I thought he was talking bullshit, but once we started digging into Matthew’s affairs, we found a lot of suspicious activity.”

“What kind of activity?” Stitch asked.

“Various dummy corporations, shell companies, investments. All the red flags, though nothing can be traced directly back to him. All his assets in the States are legit, paid for through his salary and some smart investments. On paper, he’s an exemplary citizen.”

Not anymore. The game was up.

A call from one of the agents made Stitch look up.

“Sir, I’ve found an old lease taken out by Ryan Osbourne almost four years ago. It’s for a warehouse near the Anacostia River.”

“Who’s Ryan Osbourne?” Rider asked.

“He was part of Matthew’s unit that was deployed to Afghanistan, sir. Part of the original Ghost Company.”