The FBI's access to military records was extensive but not unlimited.Formal requests would be required for anything beyond basic service histories, and those requests would take time—time they might not have if the real killer decided to demonstrate that Elena Rodriguez wasn't responsible for the ghost ship attacks.But Isla could start with what was available, could begin building a framework that would guide the deeper investigation to come.
She pulled up discharge records for the past five years, filtering by branch of service and geographic proximity.The initial results were overwhelming—thousands of veterans had separated from the military and settled somewhere in the Great Lakes region.She needed to narrow the field, to identify the subset of individuals whose training and circumstances matched the profile she was constructing.
Naval Special Warfare.Marine Force Reconnaissance.Army Special Forces with maritime operations experience.Coast Guard deployable specialized forces.The elite units where soldiers learned to kill efficiently in environments exactly like Lake Superior—cold water, limited visibility, targets who never saw death coming until it was too late.
The first batch of names began populating her screen.Dozens of them, then hundreds as the search parameters expanded.Each name represented a life of service—years of training, deployments to places that couldn't be discussed, sacrifices that most civilians would never understand.And somewhere among them, possibly, was the person turning Lake Superior into a hunting ground.
Isla began the tedious work of initial sorting, separating the obvious non-matches from those requiring further investigation.Age eliminated some—too old for the physical demands the attacks would require, or too young to have accumulated the necessary experience.Geography eliminated others—addresses too far from the Great Lakes to make the attacks logistically feasible without leaving a trail of travel records.Current employment eliminated still more—active duty personnel, government contractors with verified schedules, individuals whose lives were too thoroughly documented to allow for the kind of shadow existence the killer required.
But a pattern began emerging from those who remained.Veterans who had separated from service under circumstances that suggested difficulty transitioning to civilian life.Medical discharges for psychological conditions—PTSD, adjustment disorders, the invisible wounds that combat left on minds trained for violence.Disciplinary separations that hinted at incidents the military preferred not to discuss.Administrative discharges whose vague language concealed stories that would never appear in official records.
Soldiers who had been weapons, discarded when they were no longer useful, struggling to find purpose in a world that neither understood nor appreciated what they had sacrificed.
Isla thought about the psychology of what she was seeing.A man—and the physical evidence strongly suggested a male perpetrator—trained at the highest levels of military capability.Someone who had spent years, possibly decades, learning to identify threats and eliminate them.Someone who had returned from war to find a country that had moved on without him, a system that couldn't address his needs, a civilian existence that felt like a poorly fitting costume he couldn't quite wear.
And then, perhaps, a moment of crystallization.Looking at the news reports of smuggling operations and trafficking rings.Watching criminals move freely through American waters, protected by the same legal system that had failed to support him.Seeing threats that no one else seemed willing or able to address.
The transition from soldier to vigilante wouldn't be difficult for someone like that.It would feel natural, even righteous.A continuation of the mission rather than a deviation from it.The enemy had simply changed—no longer foreign combatants in distant theaters, but domestic predators operating in his own backyard.
She created a new document, beginning to organize the names that seemed most promising.Not suspects—she didn't have nearly enough information for that designation—but persons of interest.Individuals whose backgrounds warranted deeper investigation, whose circumstances aligned with the profile she was building, whose lives might contain the answers she was seeking.
The list grew slowly, each addition representing hours of potential investigation, resources that would need to be allocated, leads that would need to be pursued.Some names would prove irrelevant—veterans living quiet lives, struggling perhaps, but channeling their struggles into harmless pursuits.Others might lead to different crimes entirely, the kind of low-level offenses that broken soldiers sometimes committed when the world became too much to bear.
But somewhere on this list, or on the expanded list that would follow once she secured access to more detailed records, was the person she was looking for.The ghost ship killer.The vigilante who had appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner for the criminals of Lake Superior.
The conference room door opened, and James entered with the particular heaviness of someone who had just survived a media gauntlet.His blazer was already half-removed, his tie loosened, his expression carrying the mixture of relief and frustration that came from saying nothing useful for thirty minutes while cameras captured every non-answer.
"Rodriguez's attorney is already pushing back," he said, dropping into the chair across from her."Stinson's laying the groundwork to argue the confession was coerced, that her client is suffering from psychological distress related to her brother's death.She's going to try to get this thrown out before it ever reaches a courtroom."
"Let her."Isla gestured toward her laptop, where the preliminary list of names awaited further development."I've started building a new search framework.Military veterans with special operations training, discharged in the past five years, living within operational range of the Great Lakes."
James leaned forward, studying the screen."That's got to be hundreds of people."
"Thousands, initially.But the profile narrows it down."She pulled up the parameters she'd established, walking him through the logic."Naval combat experience—essential for the maritime operations we're seeing.Close-quarters combat training—the knife work demands it.Evidence of adjustment difficulties post-discharge—the psychological profile of someone who might turn to vigilantism."
"You think our killer is a veteran who couldn't readjust."
"I think our killer is a soldier who never stopped being a soldier."The phrase felt right, capturing something essential about the psychology they were dealing with."Someone trained to identify threats and eliminate them, who came home to find that the threats had simply changed location.Drug runners, arms smugglers, human traffickers—they're enemies, just like the ones he fought overseas.And if the system can't stop them..."
"He'll do it himself."James nodded slowly, his weathered face thoughtful."Continuing his mission."
"Exactly."Isla turned back to the laptop, scrolling through the preliminary list she'd assembled."These are the names that survived initial filtering.Veterans with the right training, the right geographic proximity, the right circumstances to potentially match our profile.None of them are suspects yet—we don't have nearly enough for that.But they're starting points."
"How many?"
"Forty-three, so far.And that's just from the records I can access quickly."She rubbed her eyes, feeling the burn of exhaustion that never quite faded anymore."Once we get authorization for deeper searches—psychological evaluations, classified service records, the stuff that requires formal requests—that number will change.Some will be eliminated.Others might be added."
James was quiet for a moment, processing the scope of what she was describing."That's a lot of investigation.A lot of resources."
"It's the only way to do this right."Isla met his gaze, seeing in his blue eyes the same uncertainty she felt in her own chest."Rodriguez's confession is a gift—it buys us time, keeps the media occupied, maybe even keeps the real killer calm for a while.But it's not going to hold.Stinson will tear it apart, or Rodriguez will recant, or the killer will decide to prove she's lying by striking again.We have a window, James.A narrow window to build an actual case."
"And if the killer's not on your list?"
The question hung between them, uncomfortable in its implications.Isla had considered it—had spent the past hour considering all the ways her methodology might fail, all the assumptions that might prove wrong, all the variables she couldn't account for.
"Then we expand the search," she said finally."Widen the parameters, consider alternative profiles, look at possibilities we haven't imagined yet.But we have to start somewhere, and military veterans with special operations training is the best fit for what we're seeing.The precision, the efficiency, the complete lack of forensic evidence—that doesn't come from YouTube tutorials or crime novels.That comes from years of professional instruction in the art of killing."
James stood, moving to the window where the media trucks still crowded the parking lot.His reflection ghosted across the glass, superimposed over the chaos outside."The public thinks we have our killer.#LakeSuperiorHero is trending, people are calling Rodriguez everything from a vigilante saint to a tragic figure.They want this story to have an ending."
