“Logging truck,” Miller observed. “But there hasn’t been an active lumber mill on that road in a decade.”
“That’s our ghost,” Naomi said, her eyes flashing with predatory focus. “They used Ryan to run interference so I wouldn’t cross paths with their shipment. They’re getting sloppy.”
“Old Mill Road leads dead into the national forest,” Vance said, looking at the topographical map. “There’s an abandoned rail yard about ten miles deep. Perfect place to offload cargo onto freight trains heading north. Completely off the grid.”
Naomi checked her watch. It was nearing dusk. The sky outside the motel window was bruising into dark shades of purple and orange. “They wouldn’t offload in broad daylight. They’re waiting for nightfall. We move in three hours.”
The tension in the room instantly shifted from investigative curiosity to sharp, tactical readiness. Weapons were checked, magazines loaded, and Kevlar vests strapped tightly over dark tactical gear. Naomi traded her blazer for a black windbreaker bearing the bold, yellow letters FBI on the back. She slid her customized Glock 19 into her tactical holster, the weight a familiar and comforting anchor.
By 10:00 PM, the Oakhaven forest was pitch black. The air was thick with the scent of pine and impending rain. Naomi and her strike team moved silently through the dense underbrush, using night-vision goggles that bathed the world in a haunting, luminescent green.
They approached the abandoned rail yard on foot, leaving their vehicles a mile back to avoid detection. Through the trees, they could see the massive, rusting skeleton of an old loading crane. Below it, illuminated by the harsh, white glare of portable halogen work lights, was the logging truck.
Naomi raised her hand, signaling the team to halt and fan out. She crouched behind a rotting fallen log, raising her binoculars.
The scene was exactly as she had anticipated, but the players involved made her blood run cold.
A dozen armed men in tactical gear—not street thugs, but professional mercenaries with suppressed rifles—were systematically unloading heavy, unmarked crates from the hollowed-out center of the logging truck and moving them into an empty freight car.