"Which is why I need to move now, while they're distracted with departures." I check my sidearm. "The safe in Hargrove's study could contain original documentation. Evidence that can't be disputed or claimed to be fabricated."
After a brief silence, Vulture's voice comes through—he's been monitoring from the base camp. "Your call, VP. But if anything feels wrong, you abort immediately. That's an order."
"Understood," I confirm. "Ghost, I need a distraction at the main gate. Osprey, cover the east approach to the building. Zip, be ready for rapid extraction. I'm moving in two minutes."
I shed my surveillance gear, keeping only essential equipment and my weapon. The approach to the lodge requires timing security patrols and staying within blind spots we identified during our pre-operation surveillance.
Ghost's distraction comes right on schedule—a minor commotion at the main gate that draws the attention of the remaining security personnel. I use the moment to cross the open ground between the forest edge and the service entrance on the east side of the building.
The door yields to the electronic bypass tool Ice Pick provided—a handheld device that makes short work of the keycard lock. Inside, I navigate through the kitchen area, finding it temporarily empty as staff apparently prepare for lunch service.
Hargrove's study location was confirmed through architectural plans obtained by our FBI contact. First floor, west wing, overlooking the back gardens. I move silently through the opulent interior, every sense heightened for signs of security.
The study door is unlocked—no need for internal security when the perimeter is so heavily guarded. Inside, the room is exactly as Miranda described: dark wood paneling, leather furniture, a massive desk with modern technology incongruously placed among antique furnishings. And on the wall behind the desk, a large painting of a stag in a forest clearing.
"I'm in position," I murmur into my mic. "Proceeding with retrieval."
The painting swings away easily, revealing a wall safe with an electronic keypad. This presents a challenge—we don't have the combination, and bypassing it would take time we don't have.
I study the keypad briefly, then try a hunch based on what we know about Hargrove. His birthday from public records: 05-18-59. The safe remains locked.
"Try the date the Kings went underground," Cara's voice suggests suddenly through my earpiece. She must be monitoring from the clubhouse. "The day they took me. July 17th, 2017."
I enter 07-17-17, and the safe gives a soft click, swinging open.
"How did you know?" I ask, surprised not just by the correct combination but by her insight.
"It's when everything changed for him," she replies simply. "When the enterprise truly began."
Inside the safe is exactly what we hoped for—a leather portfolio containing hard copies of ledgers, contracts with the Kings of Purgatory and the Reapers, photos of political figures with trafficking victims, and most damning of all, a book of client preferences and purchases with actual names instead of codes.
I quickly photograph each page with the specialized camera we brought for documentation, then replace everything exactly as I found it. No need to alert Hargrove that we've accessed his private records.
"Evidence secured," I confirm, carefully closing the safe and returning the painting to its position. "Beginning extraction."
Retracing my steps through the lodge proves easier than the entry, the remaining security personnel still dealing with Ghost's distraction at the main gate. Within minutes, I'm back in the cover of the forest, moving swiftly toward our rendezvous point.
The team extracts without incident, converging at our temporary base where Ice Pick immediately begins downloading and backing up all the evidence we've gathered. Agent Walker joins us there, his expression growing increasingly grim as he reviews what we've documented.
"This goes deeper than anything we imagined," he says finally, rubbing his forehead. "Judges, police captains, two state representatives, diplomatic staff... Hargrove has built a protection network around his operation that's almost impenetrable."
"Almost," I emphasize, handing him the memory card containing the safe photographs. "This is the cornerstone. Client names, financial records, direct evidence of Hargrove personally managing the operation."
Walker examines the files, nodding slowly. "It's enough for federal warrants. But moving against someone like Hargrove requires absolute precision. One mistake, one leaked warning, and he disappears with his money while sacrificing underlings to take the fall."
"How long?" I ask, already calculating what this means for our next steps.
"To put together a proper federal case with an appropriate taskforce? A week, minimum. Probably closer to two." Walker meets my eyes directly. "I know that's not the timeline you want, but rushing this could collapse the entire case."
I process this information, weighing it against what we learned about imminent operations. "They're moving women overseas next week. Hong Kong buyers are already paying."
Walker nods grimly. "I heard. And I understand what that means in human terms. But if we move too soon on Hargrove, we risk the entire network scattering to reform elsewhere."
The dilemma crystallizes in my mind. Wait for the federal case to be built properly, allowing more women to be trafficked in the meantime, or take immediate action against the transport operation and risk compromising the larger case against Hargrove.
"I need to discuss this with the club," I tell Walker finally. "We'll secure the evidence for you, but we need to consider all options."
Back at the clubhouse, tension fills the chapel as I present the findings to our leadership. Vulture, Osprey, Ghost, Ice Pick, and the other officers listen intently as I detail what we learned at the hunting lodge.
