“Sawyer—” Jonah starts, but I cut him off.
“I’ll send you the location,” I promise before hanging up.
My phone keeps ringing, but I ignore it, digging through the duffel and pulling out the device connected to Maddie’s bracelet. I know she never takes it off. I just hope whoever took her left it be.
It takes about sixty seconds to boot up and calibrate, during which I stuff equipment into a backpack and weapon up, pull on a bulletproof vest, then return to the motorcycle, looking at the moving dot that appeared on the screen.
They’re taking her in the direction of a cemetery to the west of the city, which makes sense. It’s isolated, and there’s commercial real estate on the riverside. I recall Maddie’s notes mentioning that some of the shell corporations Harlow uses to funnel funds have real estate registered to their name.
I shoot Jonah a text and kick the bike into high gear, stopping when I get to the edge of the residential area and checking the location again. The dot stopped moving and is now blinking over a spot between the cemetery and the river on the narrowest strip of land, just as I predicted.
If it were me, I would have people stationed inside the cemetery with thicker security the closer I get to the location. Harlow wouldn’t be expecting a one-man team coming from the water, though. It’s probably why he chose a place right on the bank of the river.
I know it’ll cost me valuable time, and since my vest isn’t the waterproof kind I’m going to have to give it up, but I also know surprising Harlow is the best chance I’ve got at getting Maddie out. It’s still a long shot, but it’s better than the alternatives.
Before I start driving, I send a text to Jonah with the exact location of where Maddie is being held, and then I realize I may not have another chance to say goodbye.
In case I don’t make it out, I want you to know that you and Andrew are the only real family I’ve ever had and how grateful I am for getting to experience that.
Take care of Maddie for me, Joe. I need you to be strong for her if I’m gone.
I toss the phone on the asphalt and drive over it with the motorcycle. Taking the shortest route to my entry point on the other side of the river, I stay on main roads as much as I possibly can, where Harlow is less likely to have eyes.
When I reach my entry point, I take a moment to scan the location, almost surprised at the absence of guards. I take one last look at the vest I took from the safe house. It’s the perfect armor for land combat, not so much for frog ops, but the decision to lose it still doesn’t come easy. If it means I get to Maddie faster, though, it’s worth it.
It’s almost too simple, slipping into the river and making my way to the other side. Even finding the entrance and taking down the guards is disturbingly effortless. It’s almost as if whoever’s in charge is either complacent or unprepared, neither of which are attributes I’d associate with a man like Harlow.
It takes all my training not to barge into the complex and wreak havoc Rambo style. I need to get as close to Maddie as I can without raising an alarm, grab her and make a swift exit.
Once inside, the sinking feeling that something’s off, that this is too simple to be real, embeds deeper in my chest. There are too many places to hide and quietly sneak through the storage hangar unnoticed, with barely any guards or safety measures.
It seems that all the heavy-duty firepower is in the room at the end of the complex. It would be all too easy to burst in guns blazing and mow them down without so much as breaking a sweat. It’s a rookie move, and Harlow is no rookie, which means I’m missing something. I hear distinctive sounds of beating and yelling coming from inside the room. They went to work quickly, resorting to violence before trying to convince her in other ways. Maybe that’s why there’s so little security—Harlow was planning to torture and kill her faster than he thought anyone would find her.
The thought that making such a brass assumption is unlike Harlow strikes me again, but I don’t have the time to dwell on it
“Tell me what you know!” I hear a man yelling through the door and another dull thud, but not a sound from Maddie.
If he’s yelling at her, she’s conscious, which is good. It’ll be easier if I don’t have to carry her out.
The man delivering Maddie’s torment swears at her vehemently before ordering someone to “clean her up and get the next phase ready.”
I can’t let him get to the next phase. Just knowing I got here too late to prevent the beating is bad enough.
Slowly, I stalk to the door,too easy, turn the knob only to find it unlocked,this isn’t right, and slide into the room and behind some boxes undetected.
Maddie’s tied to a chair, too close to the door for this to be a serious operation, her face bloody and bruised, and if it weren’t for the fire blazing in her eyes as she peers at the suit-wearing man skulking near her, I would have lost my cool.
But she’s still there, my firecracker techy, hating on the asshole with the receding hairline who is ordering someone else to do his dirty work and hurt her.
He’s sweating bullets, looking all sorts of anxious as he fiddles with his phone. I recognize him as Herald Renard Jr., the son of one of Cuthbert Bank’s shareholders and a member of the board, a longstanding and high-ranking one.
It makes the scenario even more bizarre. If this is Harlow’s son, then why is there so little security? And why is the array of men keeping him safe so badly spread out? This entire scenario feels rushed, almost as if this wasn’t planned. Or, maybe, this is exactly what Harlow planned.
Infiltrating the safe househadto be thought out. Assuming Maddie called her uncle, it means someone had the landline of a high-ranking FBI agent monitored on the off-chance she would contact him and disclose her location, then reached the safe house within less than ten minutes, got through all of Peak’s security, and neutralized two former Army Rangers that I know for a fact are the best on Elijah’s field team without so much as a mild brawl.
It was cruel efficiency with zero casualties. Harlow’s style to a T.
This? This is sloppy, which has me thinking it’s a well-thought-out play by Harlow. But I can’t see his endgame.