"The intent is to kill," she said slowly, working through the profile aloud."Not to torture, not to send a message through suffering.Just...elimination.Like removing obstacles from a path."
"Or targets from a list," Henley added quietly.
The words hung in the cold air of the morgue.Isla looked at the body on the table—this anonymous victim who had probably thought he was just making another smuggling run, who had died with a knife in his heart before he could even call for help.Somewhere, he had a name, a family, people who might be wondering why he hadn't come home.And somewhere out there, the person who had killed him was planning their next hunt.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking the somber silence.She stepped away from the examination table to answer, recognizing SAC Kate Channing's direct line.
"Rivers."
"Where are you?"Kate's voice was sharp, efficient, carrying the undertone of urgency that meant developments were happening faster than anyone could track.
"Medical examiner's office.Reviewing the recovered bodies."
"Get back here.Now."A pause, then: "Callahan's decided to cooperate.He's offering names—other smuggling operations, contacts in the network, everything he knows about how these people move product through the lakes.He wants a plea deal, and he's willing to give us enough to make it worthwhile."
Isla felt a spark of something that might have been hope."He's naming names?"
"Better than that.I've got three of his contacts already in custody—picked them up based on the information he's provided.But here's the thing, Isla.They're scared.Not of us, not of prosecution.They're scared of whoever's hunting them."Kate's voice dropped slightly."Word has spread through the network.Everyone knows something is targeting smuggling operations, and people are talking.These three might know something useful, but they need to be handled carefully.I want you and Sullivan doing the interviews."
"We're on our way."
Isla ended the call and turned to find James watching her, his expression questioning."Callahan's talking," she said."Kate's bringing in more of the network.We need to get back."
They thanked Dr.Henley and moved quickly toward the exit, but as they passed through the anteroom, Isla's attention was caught by a television mounted in the corner.The local news was playing, and the anchor's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"—what authorities are calling 'phantom attacks' on Lake Superior.Sources tell us that at least two vessels have been found abandoned in the past week, with evidence suggesting their crews may have been killed by an unknown assailant.The maritime community is on high alert as—"
"Phantom attacks," James muttered, shaking his head."The media's already sensationalizing it."
Isla watched the screen, seeing footage of theNorthern Dawnbeing towed into harbor, theStorm Runner'sempty deck, coast guard vessels conducting search patterns.The story was out now, spreading through news channels and social media, probably terrifying every sailor and fisherman on the Great Lakes.
"It's going to get worse before it gets better," she said."Come on.Let's see what Callahan's friends have to say."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The interview rooms at the Duluth FBI field office were small, deliberately so—designed to create a sense of confinement that encouraged subjects to talk.By three o'clock Thursday afternoon, Isla had cycled through all three of them, speaking with men whose faces told the same story of fear that had been written on Derek Callahan's features when they'd pulled him off the Arctic Wind.
The first was Tony Marchetti, a forty-three-year-old dock worker with connections to a heroin distribution network that stretched from Milwaukee to Thunder Bay.He sat hunched in his chair, fingers interlaced on the metal table, eyes darting toward the door every few seconds as if expecting something terrible to burst through.
"Word's out," he said, his voice barely above a whisper."Everyone knows.Something's hunting us on the water.TheNorthern Dawn, theStorm Runner—those aren't isolated incidents.There've been others.Boats that went dark, crews that vanished, cargo that disappeared.We thought it was rival operations at first, but..."He shook his head, a visible tremor running through his shoulders."No one's claiming it.No one's making demands.It's like something's just...cleaning house."
"Tell me about these other incidents," Isla said, keeping her voice calm and professional despite the urgency she felt."Names, dates, locations.Everything you've heard."
Marchetti talked for forty minutes, spilling details about a shadow world that operated beneath the surface of Lake Superior's legitimate shipping industry.Boats that had disappeared near Marquette.A crew out of Ashland that never returned from a run three months ago.Rumors of bodies found with knife wounds, of vessels discovered drifting without a soul aboard, of a presence that moved through the criminal underworld like a ghost with a blade.
The second interview was with a woman named Sarah Kowalski—no relation to the crying man from Callahan's crew—who ran logistics for a stolen goods operation that used fishing boats as cover.She was harder than Marchetti, her fear buried beneath layers of street-hardened defiance, but even she couldn't hide the tension that coiled through her body when Isla asked about the attacks.
"Half the operations I know have suspended activities," Kowalski said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest."Nobody wants to be on the water right now.The ones who are still running have doubled their security—armed guards, convoy systems, anything to avoid being caught alone.It's chaos out there.Everyone's looking over their shoulder."
"Has anyone seen anything?"Isla pressed."Descriptions, vessel sightings, anything that might help identify who's doing this?"
Kowalski laughed, but there was no humor in it."That's the thing, Agent Rivers.Nobody sees anything.The boats that get hit, the crews that disappear—there's never any warning.No distress calls, no witnesses, no survivors.Just empty vessels and blood on the deck.Whoever's doing this knows how to move without being seen."
The third interview was with a man named Eduardo Reyes, who claimed to be a legitimate charter boat captain but whose financial records suggested a lucrative side business transporting product for various criminal organizations.He was the most forthcoming of the three, probably because he was also the most terrified.
"I'm done," he said flatly, staring at the wall behind Isla's head rather than meeting her eyes."Whatever deal you want to offer, I'll take it.I'll testify against anyone you want, give you whatever information I have.I just want protection.Real protection.Because whatever's out there..."His voice cracked slightly."I've been working these waters for fifteen years, Agent Rivers.I've dealt with the Coast Guard, DEA, rival operations, everything.None of it scared me like this does."
"Why?"Isla asked, genuinely curious about what had broken this man so thoroughly.
