Chapter 6 - The Counterstrike
I immediately turned on the wall-mounted television in the conference room. A live news bulletin from the Raleigh local affiliate popped up on the screen.
A slick news anchor stood outside the State Bureau of Investigation headquarters. "Breaking news this afternoon as serious allegations of evidence tampering and police brutality have been levied against retired SBI Senior Investigator Daniel Vance. In a statement released moments ago by the Beaufort County Sheriff's Department, Vance is accused of orchestrating a violent home invasion at the historic Whitmore Estate, assaulting private security personnel, and kidnapping his adult daughter, Emily Whitmore, who suffers from severe psychiatric disorders..."
The screen cut to a clip of Margaret Whitmore standing on her front porch, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief while Arthur Vance stood beside her holding a stack of medical records.
"They're flipping the script," Jenkins said, her eyes flashing with anger. "They're using the local sheriff to issue a state arrest warrant for you, Daniel. If they take you into county custody before we execute our federal warrants, you'll be sitting in a jail cell controlled by Sterling's men."
"They want me in a cell where an 'accident' can happen," I said coldly. "And they want Emily isolated in a private psychiatric facility so she can't testify."
"What do we do?" Emily asked, panic creeping back into her voice as she looked at me. "Dad, they own the local media. Everyone thinks I'm crazy!"
I walked over to the whiteboard hanging on the wall, grabbed a marker, and drew a single line connecting the Whitmore Estate to the Wilmington Shipping Docks.
"Grant said they spent the morning clearing out the vault," I said, looking at Thorne. "Where do you hide fifty million dollars in illegal bearer bonds, gold, and physical evidence when the federal government is closing in?"
Thorne’s eyes lit up. "The docks. They’re going to load it onto their private yacht and clear out for international waters."
"Exactly," I said. "They aren't trying to win a legal battle anymore. They’re running. The press conference is just a distraction to keep the local police focused on hunting me down while Grant and Margaret get to their boat."
"We need to strike the Wilmington docks before that boat leaves the marina," Thorne said, grabbing his tactical jacket. "I'll call the Coast Guard and deploy the FBI HRT unit."
"No time," I said, pulling my keys from my pocket. "An HRT deployment takes three hours of red tape and authorization. That boat will be in international waters in ninety minutes. Marcus, you get the federal warrants signed. Emily and I are going to Wilmington."
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"Dad, no!" Emily grabbed my arm. "It's a trap!"
I looked down at her, taking her small hand in mine. "It's only a trap if you don't know it's coming, baby. It's time to end this."
