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Marquez’s tactical team is still four minutes away.

“Show me the marina,” Ben orders through the radio.

Keating brings a satellite image onto the main monitor.

Blue Lantern Marina Supply occupies the end of a narrow row of marine businesses. The storefront faces the parking lot. A storage building extends behind it toward the docks.

One road enters the property.

The water provides the only other exit.

“Arthur’s office?” Ben asks Elliot.

“Back corner of the store.”

“Windows?”

“One facing the dock.”

“Other rooms?”

“Storage, workshop and a small apartment upstairs.”

“Where would Simon hold him?”

“The workshop. It has no windows.”

“Entrances?”

“One from the store and one from the rear dock.”

Ben divides his team without hesitation.

“Mark, front entrance. John, cover the dock. Piers, take the eastern side. I’ll approach the rear.”

“You wait for my agents,” Marquez orders.

“We’ll observe until they arrive.”

That is not a promise.

I know it.

So does Marquez.

Ben reaches the marina first.

His body camera shows him moving between stacked boats without making a sound. Mark circles toward the front lot. John disappears along a neighboring dock while Piers positions himself beside a repair shed.

The Blue Lantern is dark.

A single light burns in the upstairs apartment.

“No visible movement,” Mark whispers.

John’s voice follows.

“Small motorboat tied at rear dock. Engine is warm.”