Tom zoomed in as much as the grainy feed allowed. "Hard to say definitively. He's moving normally, no obvious limp or favoring one side. But the resolution's not good enough to see details."
Reagan moved closer to the screen. "He looks thin."
She was right. David's frame seemed gaunt even through the poor image quality. Three weeks of hiding and living on scraps.
Piper's voice was soft. "When's the last time he ate?"
No one had an answer.
Wade leaned closer to the screen, his attention absorbed. "That room's on the second floor, like I thought. Single door, probably locked from outside. One window, but those are storm-rated Coast Guard installation. Reinforced. Can't break them without serious tools."
Gabe pulled himself back to operational thinking. "Guard patterns?"
Tom toggled through cameras again. "Two outside the building. Changed shifts forty minutes ago, so they're fresh. Next rotation in three hours twenty minutes."
"Interior guards?"
"Can't see inside the building except this hallway and David's room. But standard protocol would put at least one guard inside, probably on the first floor near the stairwell."
Wade was already sketching. "Main entrance here. Single stairwell providing access to second floor. Fire exits north and south, but they'll be alarmed or blocked."
Cara pointed to the satellite image. "The covered walkways connect the buildings. Could we use those to approach without being seen from the tower?"
Wade studied the layout. "Maybe. Depends on their patrol patterns. If they're running regular checks..."
"They're not." Tom pulled up timestamps from the camera feeds. "Guards stay stationary. They're watching for external threats, not expecting anyone to breach the perimeter."
Wade nodded. "Overconfident. They think the isolation protects them."
Reagan refilled her coffee cup. "It has protected them. For thirty years this station's been sitting here. Who would think to look?"
Gabe stared at his brother on the screen, at David pacing his prison with stubborn determination.
I found you. I'm coming. Just hold on.
Wade pulled Gabe's attention back to planning. "We need equipment. Night vision. Communications. Body armor if we can get it. Weapons beyond what you're carrying."
Reagan pulled out her phone. "I might be able to help with that. I have a contact. He’s former Marines. Runs asecurity consulting firm specializing in equipment for people who need to handle problems quietly."
Gabe studied her, really seeing past the diner owner to whoever she'd been before Haven Cove. "What kind of security consulting?"
Reagan met his eyes steadily. "The kind where you don't ask questions and he doesn't keep records. I used him when I left Seattle, when my ex-husband's DEA connections came looking for me."
The admission hung in the air.
Wade's voice stayed carefully neutral. "Your husband is DEA?"
Reagan's expression went hard. "Was. Until I found out he was taking bribes to protect smuggling operations. He was working a joint task force with Coast Guard. Turns out, he was sharing intelligence with criminals instead of stopping them." Her jaw tightened. "I reported him. It cost me everything. My marriage. My home. My career. But I couldn't live with knowing and doing nothing."
Gabe understood that choice, understood the cost of doing the right thing when the system was broken.
"How quickly can your contact get us equipment?"
"If I call in the favor? He'll have it here by dawn." She held his gaze. "But this burns my emergency contact. I won't be able to ask again."
Gabe didn't hesitate. "Do it. I'll owe you big."
Reagan smiled sadly. "I don't run tabs. This is a freebie."
