Chapter 3 - Ghost Squad
Twenty minutes later, Blake stood inside the private command tent of Brigadier General Marcus Hale.
The general sat behind a folding field desk, illuminated by a single overhead lamp. He was a veteran of four decades of unconventional warfare—a man who had seen the best and absolute worst of human nature.
Blake didn't sit. He laid his military-grade personal device flat on the green surface, sliding it forward.
On the screen was a dossier Blake had meticulously assembled over the past three weeks using off-grid military intelligence tools. Photographs of a black Mercedes sedan. License plate numbers registered to a shell corporation in Delaware. Badge numbers of two county deputies spotted idling outside his home. A copy of the threatening note.
And at the center of the screen, a driver's license photo of a twenty-eight-year-old man with swept-back dark hair, cold eyes, and a cruel, symmetrical smile.
Cameron Voss.
"Cameron Voss," Blake said, his voice flat as tombstone granite. "Son of Richard Voss—CEO of Voss Global Logistics, major defense contractor, and the largest financial donor to the Henrico County Sheriff’s Department. His father practically funds Sheriff Nathan Cole’s election campaigns."
Hale adjusted his spectacles, studying the dossier silently. "What was the trigger, Dean?"
"Three weeks ago, Emily witnessed Cameron assault a young woman in a downtown Richmond parking garage," Blake explained, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "She called the police and gave a full statement. Two days later, the victim abruptly withdrew her complaint and left the state. But Cameron wanted to make sure Emily understood the cost of involving herself in his family's city."
Hale looked up, his weathered face dark. "You know what happens if you go back there with blood in your eyes, Blake. The media will tear you apart. They’ll paint you as a unstable soldier suffering from PTSD bringing violence to American streets."
"I don't care about the media, General," Blake said. "I care about my wife."
General Hale stared at Blake for a long, silent minute. Then, without a word, he unlocked the heavy steel lockbox bolted beneath his field desk.
He pulled out a sleek, black plastic access card stamped with a red federal seal and placed it on the desk between them.
"Emergency transit authorization," Hale said quietly.
Blake stared at the card. "You’re sending me home?"
"I am ordering you home on official administrative emergency leave," Hale corrected sharply. "You land in Norfolk, take your domestic transit, and secure your family. But you do not commit a crime, Sergeant Dean. Federal investigators from the Department of Justice were briefed on Sheriff Cole's department two months ago regarding systemic corruption. If you go rogue, you ruin a three-year federal operation and spend the rest of your life in Leavenworth."
Blake reached out and took the card. "Understood, sir."
"One more thing," General Hale added, leaning back in his chair, his eyes hardening into flint. "Three men from your former unit finished their rotation in Syria yesterday. Their transport was routed through Norfolk."
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Blake looked up, his heart skipping a beat. "Ghost Squad?"
"Master Sergeant Vance, Sergeant First Class Miller, and Staff Sergeant Cruz," Hale said, a faint, cold smile touching his lips. "They heard about your wife an hour ago. They volunteered to escort you home."
