Chapter 4 - Tracing the Black Mercedes to the Shadowy Outskirts of Upstate New York
I left Maria’s quarters with ice in my veins.
I walked back into my library, locked the double doors, and dialed a private
number I had only used twice in ten years—Marcus Kane, a former military
intelligence operative who now ran the premier high-threat asset recovery firm
in New England.
“Vance,” Kane’s gravelly voice answered on the second ring. “It’s two in the
morning. Who died?”
“Nobody yet,” I said, staring out at the rain-lashed estate. “I need a live
satellite and cell-tower trace on a matte-black Mercedes G-63 AMG registered to
Julian Lockwood. Last seen leaving my Westchester estate at 10:15 p.m. on
Thursday.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Four minutes and thirty seconds later, Kane’s voice came back on the line. “Got
a hit. The vehicle pinged off a private cell tower in Dutchess County near
Rhinebeck at 11:40 p.m. Thursday. It’s currently stationary at an unregistered
property off Old Mill Road—listed under a holding company called Lockwood Equine
Holdings.”
“What kind of facility is it?”
“Our records show an abandoned commercial kennel and veterinary clinic attached
to a three-hundred-acre private hunting tract,” Kane replied. “High security,
chain-link fences, guard dogs on the perimeter.”
“Assemble four of your best men,” I ordered, opening my desk’s bottom safe and
pulling out a heavy, licensed Glock 19. “Meet me at the Shell station off
Exit 19 in forty-five minutes. Bring breach gear.”
“Understood. Who’s the target?”
“A monster who made the mistake of stepping into my house,” I said, hanging up
the phone.
May you like
I walked up to the master bedroom, quietly packed my tactical winter jacket, and
slipped out into the garage.
I didn't take my sports car. I fired up the supercharged Land Rover Defender,
clicked the gate remote, and tore down the gravel drive into the black,
storm-drenched night.
