Chapter 4: Digging Deeper
I woke up on the couch at dawn, my neck stiff and my mind immediately alert. Jake was already awake, sitting at a makeshift desk with multiple laptops open, his fingers flying across keyboards.
"Find anything?" I asked, stretching the kinks out of my spine.
"More than I wanted to." Jake's voice was grim. "Blackwood Solutions has been involved in at least twelve federal witness deaths over the past two years. All ruled as either accidents or successful hits by the criminals the witnesses were testifying against."
I moved to look over his shoulder, trying to ignore how his presence made my pulse quicken. "Twelve witnesses? That's not a coincidence."
"Gets worse. Every single case was handled by witness protection units under Collins' supervision. He's been systematically eliminating federal witnesses, probably for years."
The scope of the conspiracy hit me like a physical blow. "How many innocent people are dead because of him?"
"We're going to find out." Jake pulled up another screen. "But first, we need to understand what Michael Grant knew that made him such a threat. I've been going through his case files, looking for connections to Blackwood Solutions."
"Those files are classified. How did you—"
"I still have contacts in the intelligence community. People who owe me favors." Jake's expression was carefully neutral. "People who don't like corruption any more than we do."
I studied the documents on his screen. Financial records, surveillance reports, witness statements—all related to the crime syndicate Grant had been testifying against.
"Look at this," Jake said, highlighting a section of financial data. "The syndicate has been laundering money through federal contracts for the past three years. Security services, consulting fees, witness protection arrangements. They've been using the government's own systems to legitimize their criminal operations."
"And Collins was facilitating it." The betrayal still felt like a knife in my chest. "He wasn't just taking bribes—he was actively helping them."
"More than that. He was their inside man, their guarantee that witnesses would never make it to trial." Jake pulled up photos of Collins at various social events. "Look at these. Collins attending charity galas, business conferences, political fundraisers. All events sponsored by companies connected to the syndicate."
I recognized some of the faces in the photos. Businessmen I'd seen on the news, politicians who'd spoken at FBI training seminars, law enforcement officials I'd worked with over the years.
"This goes beyond organized crime," I realized. "This is a network of corruption spanning multiple agencies and private sector companies."
"And you were getting too close to the truth." Jake met my eyes. "Grant trusted you. He probably told you things he didn't tell other agents, details that could have exposed the entire operation."
I tried to remember every conversation I'd had with Michael Grant. He'd been scared, constantly looking over his shoulder, talking about connections between legitimate businesses and criminal organizations.
"He mentioned something about a meeting," I said suddenly. "A gathering where FBI officials were discussing protection arrangements with private contractors. He said it felt wrong, like they were planning something instead of just coordinating security."
"When was this meeting?"
"Three weeks before he was murdered. Grant said he overheard Collins talking to someone from Blackwood Solutions about 'cleaning up loose ends.'"
Jake went very still. "Sarah, if Grant told you about that meeting, it means you're the only person left alive who knows about it."
The implications terrified me. "Which is why Collins wants me dead."
"Not just Collins." Jake pulled up personnel files on his screen. "I've been researching everyone connected to your case. Your direct supervisor, Agent Davis, has received payments from shell companies connected to Blackwood Solutions. The technical support staff who set up your safe house communications? Two of them have family members working for companies in the syndicate's network."
I stared at the evidence in disbelief. "How deep does this go?"
"Deep enough that we can't trust anyone in federal law enforcement. The corruption has spread through multiple levels of the Bureau."
As if to prove his point, Jake's monitoring equipment started beeping. He checked the displays, then swore under his breath.
"What is it?"
"Motion detectors picked up surveillance teams positioning around the building. Three different teams, coordinated approach." Jake was already moving, shutting down equipment and grabbing supplies. "They found us."
"How? We've been careful."
"Someone's been tracking us electronically. Either through your friend Lisa or through one of my contacts." Jake handed me a bulletproof vest and checked his weapons. "We need to move, now."
I strapped on the vest, my hands steady despite the fear coursing through my veins. "Where do we go? If they can track us anywhere, there's no safe place left."
"There's one place they won't expect us to go." Jake's smile was grim. "The FBI field office."
I stared at him. "Are you insane? That's exactly where they want us."
"No, they want us isolated where they can eliminate us quietly. The field office is public, full of witnesses, monitored by multiple agencies. Collins can't have us killed in front of dozens of federal agents without answering uncomfortable questions."
It was either brilliant or suicidal. "What's the plan?"
"We walk in the front door during shift change when the building is busiest. I surrender you to Internal Affairs for questioning, which gets you official protection. While you're in federal custody, I work my contacts to gather evidence against Collins."
"And if Collins decides to eliminate me while I'm in custody?"
Jake's expression was fierce. "Then he'll have to go through me first."
The sound of footsteps in the stairwell cut off my reply. Jake grabbed a small explosive device from his equipment bag.
"Back exit, thirty seconds. When I detonate this, we run for the car."
We positioned ourselves at the rear door as heavy footsteps echoed from multiple directions. Professional teams were surrounding the building with military precision.
"Ready?" Jake asked.
I nodded, gripping my weapon. "Let's go make some noise."
Jake triggered the device, and the front of the building exploded in smoke and sound. Shouts erupted from the surveillance teams as we burst through the back door and sprinted for the sedan Rachel had left us.
Gunfire erupted behind us as we reached the car. Jake floored the accelerator, tires screaming as we shot out of the parking garage into morning traffic.
"They're following," I said, watching black SUVs emerge from multiple positions around the building.
"I was counting on it." Jake took a hard right, then another, weaving through downtown streets with practiced precision. "We need them to follow us to the FBI building. Makes our story more credible."
For ten minutes, we played a deadly game of cat and mouse through Seattle traffic. Jake used every evasion technique in the book—sudden lane changes, running red lights, using public transportation to block pursuit vehicles.
But our pursuers were professionals, and they had resources we didn't. More vehicles kept appearing, coordinating to box us in.
"There," Jake said, pointing ahead. "Federal building, two blocks."
I could see the imposing structure of the FBI field office, but we still had to get through the coordinated efforts of multiple kill teams.
"Hold on," Jake warned, then did something that defied physics and traffic laws.
He drove straight through a busy intersection against the light, using a city bus to shield us from gunfire, then jumped the curb and drove across the federal building's plaza directly to the main entrance.
FBI security personnel were already responding to the commotion, weapons drawn, as Jake brought the car to a screeching halt at the building's steps.
"Sarah Mitchell, suspended FBI agent!" Jake shouted as armed guards surrounded us. "She's surrendering for questioning by Internal Affairs!"
I stepped out of the car with my hands visible, letting the federal agents see I was unarmed and compliant.
"Agent Mitchell?" One of the guards recognized me. "What the hell is going on?"
"Someone just tried to kill us," I said, as black SUVs screeched to a halt at the edge of the plaza. "I'm requesting protective custody pending investigation of corruption charges against Deputy Director Collins."
The mention of Collins' name got immediate attention. Within minutes, I was inside the building, surrounded by armed agents, while Jake was being questioned about the morning's events.
But as Internal Affairs agents led me to an interview room, I caught sight of a familiar figure in the hallway. Agent Davis, my direct supervisor, was talking quietly on his phone, his expression grim.
When he saw me, his face went pale. He ended his call quickly, but not before I heard him say, "She's here. At the field office. What do you want me to do?"
My blood ran cold. Davis was supposed to be one of the good guys, someone I could trust. But Jake's research had shown he was taking payments from Blackwood Solutions.
Which meant even in federal custody, I wasn't safe.
As the Internal Affairs agents closed the interview room door behind me, I realized Jake and I had just walked into a trap. Collins might not be able to have me killed in the FBI building, but he could certainly arrange for me to disappear during transport, or to have an "accident" while in custody.
I was surrounded by federal agents, officially protected by the system I'd sworn to serve.
And I'd never been in more danger in my life.