Chapter 3 - The Ghost Protocol
By midnight, the abandoned mill had transformed into an operational tactical operations center.
Alvarez had strung four high-gain satellite dishes through the rotted rafters of the roof, masking the signals within the noise of the local cellular repeater. The monitors on the oak table were alive with rows of green data, bank routing numbers, and live satellite feeds of the Sterling Falls lumber yard.
“The old man is clever,” Alvarez said, tapping a red line on his screen as Marcus entered. “Charles Sterling doesn't use the local banks for the big money. He uses a shell corporation registered in Delaware called Apex Ridge Holdings. Every time a local farmer loses his land because he can't pay his mortgage to Sterling Valley Finance, the property title is transferred to Apex Ridge for one dollar. Then Apex Ridge leases the timber rights back to the Sterling Mill.”
He pulled up a digital blueprint of the town council building. “But here’s the mistake. The server that runs the town’s property ledger is thirty years old. They haven't updated the firewall since the Clinton administration. I’m inside their vault, Marcus. I can see every transaction, every offshore wire, and every monthly payment made to Sheriff Thomas Landry’s personal account under the name 'Consulting Services.'”
“How much?” Marcus asked, leaning over the monitor.
“Ten thousand a month,” Alvarez said. “Plus a twenty percent cut of the logging equipment auctions. When the state provides grants for rural road maintenance, Charles diverts the asphalt to his private logging trails, and Landry signs the completion certificates. It’s classic municipal fraud, but on a county-wide scale.”
Silas Thorne stepped forward from the gun racks they had mounted on the brick wall. He held a small, black digital camera with an eight-hundred-millimeter lens.
“I’ve been watching the boys,” Silas said, his voice dropping an octave. “Rowan is at the local tavern every night by nine. He likes to brag. Last night he told the whole bar that you were a coward who didn't have the teeth to come back to the mountains. Jaxson is different. He’s nervous. He went to his daughter Brooke’s room three times yesterday, screaming at her about her phone. He knows someone leaked that video, but he doesn't know it was his own kid.”
“Brooke is safe for now,” Marcus said, his brow furrowing. “She’s under our umbrella, even if she doesn't know it. Silas, what’s the security at the main estate?”
“Eight cameras, standard commercial grade,” Silas replied, switching the monitor to a thermal satellite view of the Sterling mansion—a massive three-story timber structure built on the highest ridge overlooking the town. “Two private guards at the front gate, local boys with shotguns. No tactical training. But they have three Rottweilers in the rear yard. Miranda stays in the west wing. She hasn't left the house since the night in the driveway. She’s drinking heavily. The local liquor store delivered three cases of gin to the back door this morning.”
Marcus looked at the thermal image of the house. It looked like a fortress, but to an experienced infiltration team, it was nothing more than a box with windows.
“We start with the bloodline,” Marcus said. “The Sterlings think their power comes from their money. Their money comes from the mill. If the mill stops breathing, the family starves. Preacher, what’s the status of the logging contracts?”
Boyd smiled, his teeth white against his dark beard. “The U.S. Forest Service has a regulatory loophole regarding the endangered Appalachian spotted salamander. If there’s a suspected nesting ground within five hundred yards of a logging operation, the federal government can issue an immediate, non-appealable cease-and-desist order for ninety days to conduct an environmental audit. I’ve already submitted the anonymous reports using the GPS coordinates of Charles’s three primary cutting zones.”
“Will it hold?” Marcus asked.
May you like
“With Colonel Mitchell pushing it from the Department of Agriculture in Washington? It’ll hold like concrete,” Boyd said. “By six o'clock tomorrow morning, federal marshals will be placing chains on every bulldozer Charles owns.”
Marcus nodded. “Good. That’s the left hand. Now let’s prepare the right.”
