Reagan sat up straight. “Warehouses. That sounds promising.”
Both Tom and Gabe frowned. “Too obvious,” Gabe said.
Cara didn’t disagree. If she were running this smuggling operation, she’d have decoy warehouses, too. A great way to expose the enemy.
“What?" She prompted, seeing the look on Tom’s face.
“I need to dig into these other properties on the list first.” Tom highlighted three entries. "They’re different. Abandoned. No active business registration. No employees. Just land sitting empty on the books."
He pulled up the first entry. Satellite imagery loaded showing a deteriorating industrial complex on the waterfront.
"Pacific Tides Seafood Processing," Wade said, recognition in his voice. "The fish plant where David's phone was pinging. You guys didn’t have time to search the whole place.”
“No, we didn’t,” Gabe agreed. “But it’s hard to believe they’d keep him there after we showed up.”
“Agreed,” Wade added, defeat flattening his tone.
Tom pointed at his screen. "Now here’s a storage place we should check out. Bayshore Storage Facility in Astoria. Self-storage units. Closed 2018 after the owner died. Property's been sitting empty since."
"I don’t see it. Urban location," Wade assessed, studying the satellite view. "Residential neighborhood within a quarter mile. Active marina next door. Too many potential witnesses for holding a hostage long-term."
Tom nodded and pulled up the third property.
The image showed a complex of white buildings on a rocky point jutting into the Pacific, a rusted watch tower rising above the main structure with a boat house at water level. The squat main operations building was connected to the externals by covered walkways.
Text appeared below the image:Cape Mercy Coast Guard Station. Decommissioned 1994.
Wade went absolutely still.
Gabe watched the color drain from his face.
"Wade?" Cara's voice was soft with concern.
"They're using a Coast Guard station." The words came out flat. Cold. Fury barely contained. "A facility built to save lives. To protect people. And they turned it into a prison."
The rage was palpable. Personal in a way that suggested more than general outrage.
Something in Gabe's chest recognized it. The specific anger that came from watching institutions you'd served being corrupted and betrayed.
He'd felt it every time another agent broke the law.
Wade was feeling that now, amplified by whatever connection he had to the Coast Guard.
"You'vebeen there," Gabe said.
Wade nodded, his eyes never leaving Tom’s screen. "Joint operations training. Search and rescue operations. Years ago, before the decommissioning." His voice was tight. "The people who manned that place pulled drowning fishermen out of thirty-foot swells. Rescued hikers trapped on cliffs. Saved lives in conditions that would kill most people."
"And now it's being used for this," Reagan said.
Tom pulled up more satellite imagery, multiple angles illustrating the station's isolation. A rocky coastline on three sides with only a single access road winding up to the highway. No nearby structures. No witnesses.
"It's perfect for their operation," Tom said. "Deep water access through the boat house. Observation tower with three-sixty views—they'd see anyone approaching by land or sea. Single road makes containment easy. The buildings are already fortified, built to withstand Pacific storms."
"Yup," Wade added. "Hard to approach undetected. Easy to control. If you're holding someone you don't want found..."
He didn't finish. Didn't need to.
Gabe stared at the satellite image, his counter-intelligence training cataloging details. Distance from Haven Cove: seventeen miles. Nearest town: Mercy Point, population 843.
