Page 150 of Anchor
Heather set her coffee down and lifted her chin, searching for some fragment of dignity. “What do you want from me, Ian? An apology? My tears?”
His gaze sharpened. “I want to know where he is.”
For a moment, she said nothing. Then she gave a bitter half-smile. “Scour is dead, isn’t he?”
Ian didn’t soften. “He is. And that leaves Vos. Where is he, Heather?”
She hesitated, then leaned back slightly, as though she could negotiate from a position she didn’t have. “If I tell you… do I get anything in return?”
Ian’s glare froze her in place. “Maybe an extra dessert on Sunday. Damn it, Heather, where is he?”
Her composure cracked. “Denver,” she whispered. “He said he was heading to Denver. But I haven’t heard from him since he left.”
“I want you to understand what you took,” he replied, tone measured. “You gave Vos access to Claire, to Reid, and you tried to give him access to Chase. He stole that without you. You gambled with Claire’s life. With her child. You don’t get to stand here like you were ever a victim.”
“You think you know what he promised me,” she started.
Ian cut her off, “I know exactly what he promised. A life of love and luxury beyond your wildest dreams, and what you wanted most—power. And, unfortunately, I’ve seen exactly what you were willing to trade to get it.”
He stepped closer, gaze like steel. “Your daughter nearly bled to death. Your granddaughter was born fighting for every breath. Scour is dead. And if I have my way, Vos will be dead soon. But you? You’re going to answer for what’s left.”
Heather's voice cracked, just for a moment. “I didn’t think.”
“You never did. And now you don’t get to think anymore.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a slim black folio. Inside were two signed extradition orders, already filed through diplomatic corridors. Montenegro had agreed quietly. Chase International had leverage everywhere.
Heather blinked. “You’re taking me back.”
“No,” Ian said. “I’m handing you over.You’ll be processed through a private tribunal. Off-book. No press. No legacy.”
Ian added, quieter now, “You get no redemption, Heather. But you get to live. That’s more than you left Claire.”
He turned to the officers. “The others are yours.” And to his other men: “Take the place apart. I want everything.”
Heather’s mouth moved, but no words came.
He turned away. “Get her on the plane,” Ian ordered. “She’s done.”
He didn’t look back. The door closed behind them, leaving only the sound of the sea clawing against the cliff below.
CHASE DENVER – OPS STRATEGY ROOM – 1045 HOURS
Reid stepped into the strategy room, barefoot and exhausted, the cold of the floor biting into his heel as he adjusted thecompression wrap around his torso. The room went quiet at his arrival.
The security feed hummed in the background, its constant buzz underscoring the tension. Tree Town One stood in a tight arc near the screen, and Lincoln and Kieran stood at the head of the table. Reid leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge.
Kieran spoke first. “Ian is in Montenegro. He has already taken Heather into custody. She’ll face a private tribunal and, if she survives it, she’ll spend her days in a foreign prison. She’s talking freely now, fast and in detail.”
Lincoln added, “The body we recovered here has been confirmed as Scour. We’re still running the other three.”
Reid exhaled slowly. “At least one ghost is buried.”
Kieran’s gaze flicked back to the screen. “Heather also passed along something else. Vos is in Denver.”
“We found a small biometric drone on him. Our people are taking apart the technology, But we believe that’s how they got in. Vos was always brilliant at technology creation. That’s what made the CIA enthralled with him,” Lincoln added.
The room stilled as Lincoln set down a printed map, half of it already marked in red. “Two of his people are in Berlin. One’s been tracked near Lisbon. A last contact remains unconfirmed, but we think Nairobi. Heather overheard Vos on the phone when he thought she wasn’t listening. She gave us the call signs, the old aliases. It lines up with everything we’ve been chasing.”
Stack asked, his voice flat, “Clean sweep?”
