The crime scene technicians were finishing their work aboard theNorthern Dawn, carefully cataloging evidence that might provide leads about the killer's identity.Blood samples, fingerprints, tool marks from the knife wounds—any of it might prove crucial in identifying who had committed such systematic violence.
As they prepared to leave the marina, Isla took one last look at the four body bags that represented the crew of theNorthern Dawn.Four men who'd probably thought they were just making another routine weapons run, killed by someone who viewed their lives as obstacles to be removed.The intimate nature of knife violence, the systematic torture, the complete elimination of witnesses—it all painted a picture of a predator who was both physically dangerous and psychologically sophisticated.
It didn’t matter what crimes the crew had committed—they didn’t deserve this.
Whoever had killed them felt he had the right to take their lives.And Isla was certain that someone like that wouldn’t stop here.
CHAPTER SIX
The fluorescent lights in the Duluth FBI field office buzzed with the persistent hum of electricity that had become the soundtrack to Isla's sleepless night.Empty coffee cups littered her desk like ceramic monuments to exhaustion, and the digital clock on her computer screen showed eight-fifteen AM in harsh blue numerals that made her eyes water.She hadn't been home since yesterday afternoon, hadn't changed clothes since suiting up for what should have been a quiet evening at The Claddagh with James.
Instead, she'd spent the night elbow-deep in databases, following digital trails that led from the blood-soaked deck of theNorthern Dawninto a labyrinth of shipping manifests, customs records, and intelligence reports from agencies she'd never heard of.The weapons cache they'd discovered represented more than simple smuggling—it was part of a sophisticated network moving military-grade firearms through the Great Lakes shipping corridor.
"Got something," James said from his desk across the bullpen, his voice hoarse from hours of phone calls to contacts across multiple time zones.His usually immaculate appearance had devolved into wrinkled flannel and stubble, but his eyes held the sharp focus that came with a breakthrough."Derek Callahan.Canadian national, forty-three years old, based out of Thunder Bay with connections to cross-border weapons trafficking."
Isla looked up from her own computer screen, where ATF reports painted a picture of systematic smuggling operations that had been operating just beneath federal radar for years."Thunder Bay.Same port theNorthern Dawndeparted from yesterday morning."
"Gets better," James continued, pulling up a photograph on his monitor.The image showed a weathered man with prematurely gray hair and the kind of deep-set wrinkles that came from decades of harsh weather."Callahan's been under surveillance by ATF, DEA, and Canadian authorities for the past three years, but he's smart enough to keep his hands clean.Always one step ahead of prosecution, never directly connected to the actual weapons."
Isla stood and moved to James's desk, studying the intelligence file that detailed Callahan's suspected operations.Legitimate shipping companies providing cover for illegal cargo, carefully crafted manifests that passed cursory inspection, a network of contacts that stretched from Montreal to Milwaukee.There could be corruption from the bottom up.
"Look at this," she said, pointing to a surveillance report dated two weeks ago."Canadian authorities observed Callahan's vessel, theArctic Wind, making multiple trips along the shipping corridor.Three times in ten days, always carrying cargo whose weight didn’t match the manifests.”
James scrolled through additional reports, his expression growing grimmer with each page."ATF has been tracking weapons shipments that match theNorthern Dawn'scargo.Military-grade assault rifles, probably stolen from Canadian Forces depots or purchased through corrupt procurement officers.Street value of what we found last night?Close to two million dollars."
The magnitude of the operation was staggering.This wasn't some small-time gun runner moving hunting rifles across the border—this was a sophisticated network supplying serious firepower to unknown buyers throughout the American Midwest.TheNorthern Dawnhad been carrying enough weapons to arm a small army, and someone had been willing to commit quadruple murder to steal some of them.
"Here's the connection," James said, highlighting a section of intelligence that made Isla's pulse quicken."Callahan's organization was expecting a substantial weapons shipment to buyers in Minneapolis.When the ship didn't arrive as scheduled, they started making inquiries through their network.Sounds like it could be our ship to me.”
"Which means," Isla continued the thought, "either Callahan killed the crew to steal his own weapons for some reason, or someone else intercepted the shipment and he's out two million dollars worth of inventory."
The psychological profile was taking shape in her mind as she studied Callahan's photograph and criminal history.Three arrests, no convictions.Suspected of involvement in at least a dozen weapons trafficking cases, but always managing to avoid direct prosecution through careful operational security and expensive lawyers.The kind of careful criminal who understood that success depended on staying invisible.
But theNorthern Dawnmassacre was anything but invisible.The brutal knife work, the systematic torture of the crew, the public nature of leaving bodies floating in Lake Superior—it all felt wrong for someone like Callahan, who'd built his career on staying beneath law enforcement radar.
“I don’t know if it’s him,” Isla said.“It doesn’t track.Unless he believed the crew was a liability since they were spotted by the Canadian authorities, but wiping them out this way doesn’t seem like a discreet way to get rid of them.”
"If he didn't kill them," James said, voicing the question that was forming in both their minds, "then who did?And why?"
Isla returned to her own computer, pulling up maritime traffic records that showed the movement of vessels through the Great Lakes system.TheNorthern Dawn'slast confirmed position had been leaving Thunder Bay yesterday morning, but there was a gap of several hours before she'd been spotted drifting unmanned.Plenty of time for an interception, especially if someone had known about the weapons cargo in advance.
"Someone with inside information," she mused, studying the timeline."Either Callahan's operation has been compromised, or someone else is monitoring weapons shipments and targeting them for theft."
The implications were disturbing.If there was another player in the game—someone willing to commit mass murder to steal military weapons—then the waterfront was about to become significantly more dangerous.The Lake Superior Killer had been methodical and careful, making deaths look accidental to avoid investigation.This new threat was the opposite: brutal, public, and certain to escalate violence throughout the region.
James's phone rang, cutting through their analysis with the sharp urgency of a lead that couldn't wait.He answered on the second ring, his voice immediately shifting to the focused tone that meant business."Sullivan...What?...Are you certain?...Copy that.We'll be there in ten minutes."
He ended the call and was already reaching for his jacket, the fatigue that had marked his features replaced by the energy that came with actionable intelligence."Coast Guard spotted theArctic Windanchored about fifteen miles northeast of Duluth, just outside US territorial waters.She's been sitting there for six hours, and they're monitoring radio traffic that suggests Callahan's crew is getting nervous about something."
Isla felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with moving from investigation to action.After hours of computer screens and database searches, the prospect of confronting their suspect face-to-face was both energizing and terrifying.Callahan was suspected of involvement in dozens of weapons trafficking cases, and if he was responsible for theNorthern Dawnmassacre, he'd already proven his willingness to use extreme violence.
"International waters," she said, checking her service weapon and grabbing the gear bag that contained everything from zip ties to emergency medical supplies."We'll need Canadian cooperation for anything official."
"Already in motion," James replied, leading the way toward the elevator."Coast Guard contacted Canadian authorities, and they're dispatching a vessel from Thunder Bay.Should rendezvous with us in about an hour."
The elevator descended toward the parking garage with mechanical precision, carrying them from the fluorescent-lit world of investigation into the gray morning light that filtered through the building's windows.Lake Superior was visible in the distance, its surface calm under the overcast sky that promised more spring rain before the day was over.
"If Callahan's our man," James said as they pulled out of the parking garage, "this could get complicated fast.He's not going to come quietly, and he's got resources we don't know about.Plus, we're dealing with international jurisdiction, Canadian nationals, and enough weapons to start a small war."
