Chapter 13 - Operation Deep Trace
The digital counter-offensive lasted four grueling hours. Mason and Elena worked in synchronized harmony, trading binary strings back and forth like chess grandmasters defending a royal fort.
"Got him!" Elena shouted, slamming her palm onto the desk as a set of geographic coordinates popped up on the master tactical display. "The signal isn't coming from an offshore rig. It’s bouncing off a private communication relay station located inside an abandoned lighthouse off Cape Mendocino."
I grabbed my jacket and checked the clip of my sidearm. "Let’s move. We’re ending this tonight."
We didn't wait for federal backup; bureaucratic red tape would take too long to mobilize. Instead, Captain Higgins met us at a private airstrip with a twin-engine Cessna, ready to fly us into the stormy northern coast.
As the small aircraft bounced through heavy turbulence over the churning Pacific, I looked back at Mason, who was strapped safely into the co-pilot seat, helping Higgins monitor the navigational instruments.
"You scared, buddy?" I asked over the roar of the engines.
May you like
"Not anymore, Dad," Mason replied with a steady, confident grin. "We’ve got the cheat codes now."
The Cessna touched down on a treacherous, fog-shrouded airstrip near the cliffs of Cape Mendocino. We piled into a rugged four-wheel-drive vehicle and navigated the winding, mud-slicked coastal roads toward the looming silhouette of the old stone lighthouse.
