He tapped twice on the metal wall.
The guards looked up. «Check it out,» one said.
The other stood, hand on his pistol, and walked toward the door. Marcus waited. The door opened. The guard stepped out. Shadow hit him from the left. The man went down with a strangled scream, sixty-five pounds of German Shepherd pinning him to the ground.
The second guard lunged for the shotgun. Marcus was faster. He burst through the door, crossed the distance in three steps, and put the guard on the ground with a strike to the temple.
«Shadow, release.»
The dog backed off. The first guard lay whimpering, arm injured, but intact. Marcus zip-tied both men and gagged them. Then he pulled out his phone and sent a single text to Frank: Clear. Unit 247. North entrance.
Five minutes later, Frank appeared at the door, breathing hard, sweat on his face despite the cold. «You weren’t lying about those SEAL skills.»
«Never do.» Marcus nodded toward the rows of units. «247? This way.»
They moved through the facility until they reached a unit near the back. Frank punched a code into the keypad: 091572. The door clicked open.
Inside, boxes lined the walls. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
«All of this?» Marcus stared.
«Forty years of records.» Frank moved toward a box in the corner, marked with a faded red X. «But this is what you need. The originals. Names. Dates. Amounts. Bodies.»
He opened the box. Manila folders. Ledgers. Photographs. Marcus picked up a photo. A man, barely recognizable, lying in what looked like a shallow grave.
«Tommy Sullivan,» Frank said quietly. «That’s what they did to him. That’s what they made me help cover up.»
Marcus put the photo down. His hands were steady, but something burned in his chest. Rage. Cold and controlled. «Is this enough to bring Caruso down?»
«This is enough to bring down an empire.» Frank pulled out a small ledger. «This one is the key. It has the offshore accounts. The shell companies. The names of everyone on his payroll. Cops. Judges. Politicians. Even a congressman.»
Marcus took the ledger. «Then let’s…»
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Check the truck.
Ice flooded Marcus’s veins. He ran. The truck was where he’d left it, but the back window was shattered. And on the front seat, illuminated by the dome light, sat a photograph. Shadow. In a cage. A man with a gun standing beside him.
No. That was impossible. Shadow was right here.
Then Marcus looked closer at the photo. It wasn’t Shadow. It was another dog. Similar markings, but older. A message written on the back: This is what we do to heroes. Your dog is next. The old man. The waitress. Everyone you care about. Decide by dawn, or they all die.
Frank reached the truck, panting. He saw Marcus’s face. «What is it?»
Marcus showed him the photo. Frank went pale. «They know. They know we’re here. We need to move. Now.»
«Where?» Marcus’s mind raced through options. The diner was compromised. Sarah’s apartment was compromised. The police were compromised. «There’s only one place Caruso can’t reach us.»
«Where?»
Marcus looked at Frank with grim determination. «The Navy base. Forty miles south. If we can get there, we’re under federal protection.»
«Forty miles? Through Caruso’s territory? He controls every road.»
«Not every road.» Marcus pulled up a map on his phone. «There’s a route through the marshlands. Boats. Old fishing channels. Caruso’s men can’t follow us there.»
Frank stared at him. «I know those channels. I’ve fished them for thirty years.»
«Then you’re navigating.»
They loaded the evidence into the truck. As they drove, Marcus called Sarah. «Get out of your apartment. Now.»
«What? Why?»
«They know about us. They know everything. Meet us at the marina in twenty minutes.»
«Marcus, what’s happening?»
«I’ll explain when you get there. Just move.»
He hung up and pressed the accelerator harder. Behind them, headlights appeared on the road.
«We’ve got company,» Frank said.
Marcus looked in the rearview mirror. Two vehicles. Maybe more. «Hold on.»
He turned off the main road onto a dirt path that wound toward the water. The truck bounced and shuddered, but Marcus pushed it faster. The pursuing vehicles followed.
«They’re gaining,» Frank said.
«Not for long.»
Ahead, the marina appeared. A handful of boats tied to weathered docks. Sarah stood beside one of them, clutching a backpack, her face white with fear. Marcus skidded to a stop.
«Get in the boat!»
They scrambled aboard, Marcus helping Frank with his crutches, Shadow leaping in behind them.
«Do you know how to drive this thing?» Sarah asked.
«I know how to drive everything.» Marcus started the engine. «Frank, get us out of here.»
The old man grabbed the wheel, his muscle memory kicking in despite fifty years away from these waters. He guided the boat away from the dock just as the first pursuing vehicle screeched into the marina. Gunshots rang out.
«Down!» Marcus pushed Sarah to the deck, covering her body with his own. Bullets sparked off the water around them. Frank opened the throttle, and the boat surged forward into the darkness.
More gunshots. Then silence, as the marsh swallowed them.
«We made it,» Sarah breathed.
«Not yet,» Frank said grimly. «They’ll have boats of their own, faster ones. We’re not safe until we reach the Navy base.»
Marcus looked back at the disappearing lights of the marina. Caruso had resources, men, money, power. But Marcus had something else. He had the truth. And he was going to make sure the whole world heard it.The boat cut through black water like a knife through silk. Frank navigated by memory, calling out turns in a voice that grew steadier with each passing minute. Fifty years fell away as his hands remembered channels his mind had tried to forget.
«Left at the old cypress, then straight for a quarter mile.»
Marcus kept watch behind them, Shadow pressed against his leg, ears rotating at every sound. The engine hummed. The water whispered. And somewhere in the darkness, hunters were coming.
«How far to the Navy base?» Sarah asked, her voice tight.
«Thirty-five miles.» Frank adjusted the wheel. «Maybe four hours at this speed.»
«Can we go faster?»
«Not through here. Hit a sandbar at speed, we’re dead.»
Marcus scanned the horizon. Nothing yet. But Caruso had boats, had money, had men who knew these waters too. «Frank, is there anyone else who knows these channels the way you do?»
The old man was quiet for a moment. «Bobby Caruso. Vincent’s younger brother. We used to fish together before everything went wrong.»
«Will he be coming after us?»
«Bobby’s been dead fifteen years. Heart attack.» Frank’s jaw tightened. «But he taught his nephews. Vince Torello is one of them.»
Marcus felt his stomach drop. The man whose hand he’d broken at the diner. The man with prison tattoos and murder in his eyes.
«How well does Vince know these waters?»
«Well enough.»
Sarah hugged herself against the cold. «Then they can find us.»
«They can try.» Frank’s voice carried something Marcus hadn’t heard before. Defiance. «But I know things about these channels that Bobby never taught anyone. Shortcuts. Hidden passages. Things only the old-timers knew.»
Frank nodded and spun the wheel hard right. The boat lurched into a narrow channel that Marcus hadn’t even seen. «This passage leads through the old Jensen property. Been abandoned since the sixties. No one remembers it’s here.»
They pushed deeper into the marsh. The darkness was absolute now. Only Frank’s memory guiding them. Then Marcus heard it. Engines. Multiple engines. Coming fast.
«They’re behind us,» he said.
Frank listened, face grim. «Half a mile, maybe less.»
«Can we outrun them? In this boat?»
«No.» Frank looked at Marcus. «But we can outsmart them.»
«How?»
«There’s a place up ahead. The old fishing camp. It’s got a dock and a boathouse. If we can reach it, we can hide until they pass.»
«And if they don’t pass?»
Frank’s eyes hardened. «Then we make our stand.»
The fishing camp emerged from the darkness like a ghost. A rotting dock. A collapsed boathouse. The skeleton of a life someone had abandoned long ago. Frank cut the engine and guided the boat in with a paddle, making no sound.
«Everyone out. Quietly.»
They climbed onto the dock, Marcus helping Frank with his crutches. Shadow jumped out and immediately began sniffing the perimeter, hackles raised.
«Into the boathouse,» Frank whispered. «There’s a hidden room behind the back wall. The old-timers used it to hide their catch from the taxman.»
They moved through the darkness, Sarah clutching the waterproof case containing the evidence. Marcus pulled out his weapon. He had one magazine. Fifteen rounds. Not enough if things went bad.
Frank found the hidden panel and pressed. It swung open, revealing a space barely large enough for the four of them.
«Inside. Don’t make a sound.»
They crowded into the hidden room. Marcus pulled the panel closed behind them. Darkness. Silence. The smell of rot and old fish. Then the engines grew louder. Marcus held his breath. Beside him, Shadow stood rigid, every muscle tensed. Sarah’s hand found his in the darkness and squeezed. Frank’s breathing was labored but controlled.
The engines slowed. Stopped. Voices carried across the water.
«Check the dock. Nothing here.»
«Check again. They couldn’t have vanished.»
Footsteps on the rotting wood, getting closer. Marcus raised his weapon. If they found this room, he would take as many as he could before they took him.
A flashlight beam swept through the cracks in the boathouse wall. Marcus pressed himself against the hidden panel, making himself small.
«Clear.»
«What about the building?»
«Falling apart. No one’s been here in years.»
«Boss says to check everything.»
The footsteps entered the boathouse. Marcus could hear the man breathing. Could hear the creak of boards under his weight. Shadow growled, almost inaudibly. Marcus placed a calming hand on his head. Not yet. Not yet.
The flashlight beam swept the room, passed over the hidden panel. Paused. Marcus’s finger tightened on the trigger.
«Nothing,» the man called out. «Let’s go. They must have taken the south channel.»
The footsteps retreated. The engines roared back to life. The sounds faded into the distance. No one moved for five full minutes.
Then Frank exhaled. «They’re gone.»
Marcus lowered his weapon. «For now. They’ll realize their mistake and double back.»
«Then we move.» Frank pushed open the panel. «There’s another boat in the boathouse. Old skiff. Slower, but quieter. They won’t hear us coming.»
They found the skiff under a tarp, covered in dust and cobwebs but still seaworthy. Marcus and Sarah lowered it into the water while Frank checked the small outboard motor.
