Chapter 5 - The Tactical Network
The moment the SUV disappeared around the bend of the highway, Eric sprang into action. He ran upstairs, unlocked the master bedroom, and grabbed Brenda by the arm, dragging her down the hallway toward Emma's room.
"Get your things," he told Brenda, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We’re leaving. Right now."
He unlocked Emma’s door. His daughter was sitting on the bed, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her lap. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope.
"Pack your favorite books into your backpack, Emma," Eric said, his voice instantly softening as he knelt beside her bed. "We're going on a little trip. Just you and me."
"Is Grandma coming?" she whispered.
"Never again, baby. I promise," Eric said, kissing her forehead.
Ten minutes later, Eric’s truck was loaded with two duffel bags, a box of legal documents he had secured from the house safe, and his daughter. Brenda sat in the back seat, staring out the window in a silent, catatonic panic. Eric didn't drive toward the local police station. He knew what Vance had said was true—Myrtle had deep roots in this county, and the local sheriff was a close family friend of the Savages. If he walked into the local precinct with a photo of a bone, the report might vanish before the ink was even dry.
Instead, Eric drove ninety miles south, straight toward Fort Bragg. He needed a secure network, a place where private investigators and corrupt mountain politics couldn't reach. He needed his brothers-in-arms.
He pulled into the parking lot of a secure off-base apartment complex near Fayetteville, North Carolina. He dialed a number he knew by heart. It belonged to Master Sergeant Marcus Vance (no relation to the investigators), his former team leader and the most lethal, resourceful logistics coordinator in the United States Army Special Operations Command.
The apartment door opened five minutes later. Marcus stood there, wearing a grease-stained t-shirt and cargo shorts, a half-disassembled rifle sitting on the dining table behind him. He looked at Eric, then down at Emma, and finally at Brenda’s pale face in the back of the truck.
"You look like you just ran an unauthorized border crossing, McKenzie," Marcus said, his deep voice carrying the calm authority of a man who had survived three separate roadside bomb attacks.
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"I need a safe house, Marcus," Eric said, his voice strained with a week's worth of exhaustion. "And I need a direct, encrypted line to the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Child Exploitation Task Force. My mother-in-law is a murderer, and she’s trying to hunt my daughter."
Marcus didn't ask for details. He didn't hesitate. He stepped aside, pulling the door wide open. "Bring the kid inside. I’ve got fresh pancakes on the stove, and the secure satellite terminal is in the back room. Let's get to work."
