Chapter 4
“Dad, you want to join us instead of lurking around the corner?” Graham asked.
Addison looked down at the table to hide her smile.
“I was just passing by to get some coffee,” the elder Graham said.
“Uh-huh. Grab a seat,” Graham said.
Graham Senior sat in the seat closest to the door and slouched down, folding his hands over his stomach. He caught Addison watching him and winked.
Graham ran a hand across the top of his head. “Let me start with proper introductions. You’ve met Paige. Angie Rodriguez, who you met briefly earlier, is our IT, cyber, and network specialist. Turner Breslin is our pilot. Jeremy Owens is weapons and locksmith. Christian Knight is our master mechanic, and Devon, who you met last week, is one of our personal security specialists. We have a few more guys who are currently on assignment that we may pull in depending on what’s required.”
Addison said hello to the two men who’d been in the break room, the man who’d entered ahead of Devon, then Devon.
“Angie?” Paige prompted.
“Right.” The petite woman picked up a wireless keyboard and her fingers flew across the keys.
The large screen flickered to life with service pictures of Braedon and one of his teammates, Michael Drake. Addison blinked hard, unwilling to let the tears fall.
“About two weeks ago, the family of Michael Drake received a phone call from someone claiming to be Michael telling them he was alive,” Angie said. “Jonathan, Michael’s father, thought it was a scammer or troll trying to get money out from them by pretending to be Michael. Until the person on the line said, ‘Tell Nana I want a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich when I visit.’”
“What’s the significance of that?” Addison asked.
“Michael’s grandmother made it for him when he was a kid,” Paige said. “He hated them.”
“The line went dead before Mr. Drake could ask for more information,” Angie said.
“Did they report the call?” Addison asked.
Graham nodded. “They contacted the local police who said it was probably a scammer. They tried the Navy, who fed them the same line. Eventually they got ahold of us.”
“Any idea how he was able to call?” Addison asked.
Paige shook her head. “None.”
“I served with Jonathan’s uncle,” Graham Senior said. “I asked Junior to look into it.”
Addison caught more than one short-lived smirk at the name Junior.
“With the Drakes’ permission, I was able to trace the call,” Angie said. A satellite map of eastern Europe and southern Ukraine appeared on the screen.
“It originated from a coastal location on the Crimean Peninsula. Once I had a general location, I dug some more and was able to find proof of life for Michael Drake.” She paused and licked her lips. “And Braedon Foster.”
She clicked a key on her keyboard, and two more pictures popped up.
Addison inhaled sharply, tears springing to her eyes. The picture on the left was grainy, but it was Braedon. His bottom lip was swollen and bruised, as was one eye, and lacerations dotted his face, but the set of his mouth and fury in his one visible eye was unmistakable.
“When was this taken? Where is he? Why hasn’t anyone notified the Pentagon?”
“Based on the pictures’ metadata, they were uploaded about two weeks ago—around the time the Drakes received the phone call,” Angie said.
“We haven’t notified anyone because, by the time the cogs of the big government wheel get going, it will be too late,” Graham added. “If we go public with this information, they’ll disappear, and we may not be able to find them again.”
Addison tore her gaze from the picture. “Why?”
Graham looked at Angie, who clutched the keyboard to her chest. “I found the information on Michael Drake and your brother on the dark web. It led me down a really ugly, super-dark rabbit hole of human trafficking—men sold in auction for their perceived genetic superiority.”
