Chapter 15 - The Red Pine Cabin
The blizzard hit the northern peninsula of Michigan like a wall of white static. Nathan’s customized Suburban plowed through four inches of fresh powder, its high beams cutting through the suffocating curtain of snow. In the passenger seat, Michael cocked a semi-automatic handgun, setting two extra magazines on the center console.
"We have no legal jurisdiction here, Nathan," Michael warned, his voice steady over the hum of the engine. "If Hector’s crew is already at the perimeter, this isn't a corporate deposition. It's an extraction."
"I don't care about jurisdiction," Nathan said, his hands glued to the steering wheel. "That boy spent three years thinking he had no father because I was too blind to see through the smoke. I am not leaving him."
Ten miles off the state highway, buried in a thick grove of red pines, sat a modest timber-frame cabin. The driveway was empty, but as Nathan killed the headlights fifty yards out, he saw the faint flicker of yellow light through the frosted front window.
And beside the porch steps: fresh tire tracks, already filling with drifting snow.
"They're here," Michael whispered, drawing his weapon. "Stay behind me."
Nathan didn't wait. He grabbed a heavy iron tire iron from under the driver's seat and stepped out into the freezing bite of the gale. The wind roared through the pines like an oncoming freight train.
They moved up the porch steps, the wood groaning beneath their weight. The front door was ajar, the brass latch splintered from a heavy kick.
Inside, the living room was ransacked. Furniture was overturned, cushions sliced open with combat knives, family photos smashed across the hardwood. In the center of the kitchen, an elderly woman lay tied to a dining chair, her mouth gagged with silver duct tape, blood dripping from a cut above her eyebrow.
Nathan rushed forward, slicing the tape from her mouth with Michael’s utility knife. "Where is the boy? Where is Leo?"
The woman coughed, sobbing hysterically, her eyes wide with terror. "The barn... in the root cellar! They dragged his foster father outside! Please... they have guns!"
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A sharp gunshot cracked through the howling wind outside, echoing from behind the barn.
***
