I zoom in on the driver's gait. There's a precision to it that feels familiar, but I can't place why until I remember watching the intruder move through The Forge security footage Cole showed me. Same efficient clearing of corners, same tactical awareness of surroundings.
This isn't Brotherhood. Someone with similar training is using a fake van to frame them.
I dig deeper into the van itself. Run the license plate through DMV databases. It comes back registered to a shell company in Delaware, purchased six weeks ago. Around the same time the modified weapons started appearing at gun shows across the Pacific Northwest. Someone planned this operation carefully, creating the infrastructure to frame the Brotherhood months in advance.
I cross-reference the corporate shell information. Redwood Logistics LLC, the entity that rented the vendor booth space. Registered in Delaware with minimal public information. I dig into the financial trail, following payment records and account transfers. The work is tedious—bank records, wire transfer documentation, corporate filings. It takes patience and the kindof attention to detail that separates good investigators from mediocre ones.
Then I see it. A wire transfer from an account I recognize immediately.
Not because I traced it in the last hour. Because I spent three years undercover memorizing every financial connection the Devils MC used to launder money and move weapons. This overseas account funded their Nevada operation, funneled cash to front companies, paid for modifications and distribution. I watched transactions flow through this account while pretending to be someone else, documented it in reports that helped bring down their leadership.
The connection to the Portland vendor freezes me.
This isn't just about gun trafficking. This is someone using Devils MC infrastructure and methodology to run weapons through the Pacific Northwest.
I need to talk to the surviving witness. Portland PD took a preliminary statement at the hospital last night, but I want to hear it directly. Want to see if the description matches what I'm piecing together about professional operators using the Brotherhood as cover.
The witness, Christopher Park, is still at Oregon Health & Science University under observation for shock and minor injuries from the stampede. I flash my credentials at the nursing station and get directed to his room on the third floor.
Park is mid-thirties, software engineer according to his initial statement, attending the gun show to look at antique firearms for a collection he's building. He's also a Marine Corps veteran—I catch the EGA tattoo on his forearm when he gestures me toward the chair. Wrong place, wrong time, but he'll know what he saw.
"Mr. Park? Special Agent Monroe, ATF. I know you already gave a statement to Portland PD, but I'd like to ask you a few follow-up questions if you're feeling up to it."
He nods, gesturing to the chair beside his bed. "Yeah. I want to help. Those people who died—" His voice breaks slightly. "I was standing right there. Could've been me."
I sit, pulling out my tablet. "I understand this is difficult. I'm going to show you some surveillance photos. I need your help trying to identify the shooter."
I pull up stills from the convention center footage. Not the van driver—those images are too obscured. Instead, I show him frames from inside the convention hall, the moments before the incident started.
Park studies each photo carefully. "The shooter was wearing tactical gear which made me take notice. Plate carrier, helmet, gloves. Professional setup, not the kind of stuff casual gun show attendees wear. And the way he moved—" Park pauses, searching for the right words. "I spent years in the Corps. I know what combat movement looks like. This guy cleared corners like he'd done it a thousand times. Weapon transitions, reloads, managing his sectors—all muscle memory. Professional operative."
"Can you describe his build?"
"Average height, just under six feet. Lean build, moved efficiently. Nothing wasted." Park looks at me directly. "This wasn't some random shooter having a breakdown. This was someone executing a tactical plan. He knew exactly where the exits were, where security would respond from, how to control the space. Military precision."
The description matches what I'm seeing in the van footage. Professional operator, military training, nothing like the Brotherhood members I've been investigating.
"Did you notice anything else? Any identifying marks, distinguishing features?"
"The gear was all black, no unit patches or identifiers. But there was a tattoo on his wrist when his glove rode up during one of the reloads. Some kind of symbol, military-looking. I couldn't see it clearly enough to identify it."
I make notes, though I'm already convinced. This wasn't Brotherhood. This was someone with the training and ruthlessness to execute a targeted hit at a crowded gun show—eliminating the vendor and the two buyers who could connect him to the trafficking network, creating chaos that allowed him to escape in the confusion.
"Thank you, Mr. Park. This is very helpful." I hand him my card. "If you remember anything else, please call me directly."
Back in the Bureau sedan I borrowed from the field office, I sit for a moment processing the interview. The shooter has a spec ops background. Methodical execution. A tattoo suggesting Special Forces or similar training. Everything points to someone using a fake Brotherhood van to frame them while eliminating witnesses to a weapons trafficking network.
My phone rings. Cole. I answer.
"Where are you?" His voice is tense, controlled.
"OHSU parking lot. Finishing witness interview."
"We need to talk. Not on the phone. In person." He pauses. "I need to get back to Anchor Bay. There's a rest stop off Highway 101, southbound. How soon can you be there?"
"I'm on my way."
The drive south takes me out of Portland proper and into the coastal highway system. Rest stops along 101 are sparse, designed for travelers needing a break between major towns. This one is nearly empty when I pull in, just Cole's truck parked in the far corner away from the facilities.
