There were more people than Leo had seen, or some had arrived after the boy escaped.
Riker lowered the binoculars.
“That's enough.”
Moose studied the scene.
“They're setting up for something.”
“Yes.”
“Could be a robbery. Could be a drug transfer. Could be anything.”
“Which is why we don't invent answers.”
Evan's voice came over the radio.
“Riker, we have a development at the clubhouse.”
Riker pressed the button.
“Go ahead.”
“Leo remembered another detail. He says one of the men mentioned a file called Project Lantern. He thinks it was written on a folder near the speaker.”
Riker looked toward the factory again.
“Project Lantern?”
“That's what he said. He also remembers a sentence about a floodgate and an emergency power line.”
Riker felt the pieces shifting.
The industrial district sat beside a reservoir that supplied water to several neighborhoods. The old railway bridge crossed a drainage channel connected to the municipal flood-control system. If someone wanted to create panic, damage public infrastructure, or conceal a major crime, the area offered possibilities that went far beyond a staged attack on a motorcycle club.
“Tell Leo not to guess,” Riker said. “If he remembers something clearly, he can tell us. If he doesn't, he shouldn't force it.”
“Already told him.”
“Has his mother called back?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep trying through the hospital. And get a qualified adult who can assess whether he needs medical attention for that shoulder.”
“Understood.”
Riker ended the call.
He had a choice to make.
They could withdraw, contact the authorities, and allow investigators to secure the area. That was the safest legal course, provided the authorities were trustworthy and could respond before the men at the factory disappeared.
Or they could remain long enough to establish what was happening and gather information that might prevent the evidence from vanishing.
The second option carried risks.
Riker knew those risks.
He also knew the danger of allowing a group of armed men to remain hidden beside critical infrastructure while a child who had overheard their plans sat frightened in a clubhouse.
He took out his phone and called the county emergency communications center.
A dispatcher answered.
“County emergency services. What is your emergency?”
“My name is Riker Cross. I'm calling from Tulain Mountain Road near the abandoned agricultural machinery factory and the old railway bridge. We have reason to believe an armed group may be preparing an ambush.”
“Can you describe the weapons?”
“Not reliably. A child who witnessed a meeting reported discussions of heavy weapons and roadblocks. From our current position, we can see several men and three dark vehicles.”
“Are you currently in danger?”
“We're at a distance and are not engaging. I want to report the possible threat and request an appropriate law-enforcement response.”
“Please remain on the line.”
Riker gave the dispatcher his location, the direction of travel, the number of vehicles, and the child's account. He clearly separated what he had personally observed from what Leo had reported.
When the dispatcher asked whether the men had threatened the motorcycle club directly, Riker explained the note and the apparent reference to his name.
He did not speculate about the mayor.
He did not mention the old disagreement with Derek Voss.
He did not accuse anyone of conspiracy.
He reported what he knew.
The dispatcher said units would be notified.
Then she asked a question that made the muscles in Riker's neck tighten.
“Mr. Cross, do you know whether the individuals at that location are associated with the Steel Saw motorcycle organization?”
“I don't know who they are.”
“But the suspected target is your group?”
“That's what the witness believes.”
A pause followed.
Then the dispatcher said, “Please remain where you are. Do not approach the site.”
Riker agreed.
He ended the call and waited.
For several minutes, nothing changed.
The men continued moving around the factory.
The vehicles remained near the bridge.
A faint wind swept across the ridge.
Then a fourth vehicle appeared on the access road.
It was a white utility van.
Riker watched it approach the factory and stop near the loading yard.
A man stepped out.
Even from a distance, Riker recognized the way he moved.
He had seen that posture at the clubhouse, at charity events, and during the long nights when the Steel Saw members worked together to repair damaged motorcycles.
Derek Voss had returned.
Riker lowered the binoculars.
For the first time that afternoon, the possibility of betrayal became something he could see with his own eyes.
Derek stood beside the van, talking with a man in a dark coat. The other man wore a silver ring.
A bird with outstretched wings was engraved across its face.
Leo had remembered correctly.
The ring caught the light when the man gestured toward the bridge.
Then Derek turned toward the mountain.
For a moment, Riker thought the former officer had looked directly at the overlook.
He could not be certain.
But Derek raised one hand and pointed toward the ridge.
The man with the silver ring followed the gesture.
A second later, both of them disappeared inside the factory.
Moose swore under his breath.
“Tell me that's not what it looks like.”
Riker kept watching the building.
“I can't.”
“What do we do now?”
Riker's phone vibrated.
An incoming call appeared on the screen.
The number was unfamiliar.
He answered without giving his name.
A man's voice emerged from the speaker.
“Riker Cross.”
The voice was rough, almost mechanical, as though the caller were speaking through a damaged microphone.
Riker said nothing.
“You've always been difficult to surprise.”
“Who is this?”
“You don't need my name.”
“Then I don't need your call.”
Riker started to end the connection.
The caller spoke again.
“The boy was supposed to stay home.”
Riker's hand tightened around the phone.
“You know about Leo.”
“Of course I know about Leo.”
“Then you know he's a child.”
“Children are unpredictable. That's why adults are supposed to keep them away from things they don't understand.”
Riker looked at the factory.
“Is that what you tell yourself when you threaten them?”
A quiet laugh came through the speaker.
“You've changed, Cross. You used to understand how the world worked.”
“I understand it better than you think.”
“Do you? Then you understand why this conversation needs to end.”
“Not until you tell me what's happening at the factory.”
The caller exhaled.
“You have twelve men with you. I have people who don't care how many motorcycles you own. If you want everyone to go home tonight, turn around and ride back down the mountain.”
“Who sent you?”
“Someone who knows you.”
“Derek?”
Silence.
It lasted less than a second, but Riker heard it.
“You're guessing,” the caller replied.
“Am I?”
“Listen carefully. You have been given a chance to leave. Take it.”
“What happens if I don't?”
The voice grew colder.
“Then the boy's mother will learn that her son has been spending time with dangerous men. The mayor will make a statement about an escalating criminal threat. The police will find evidence that points directly to your club. By tomorrow morning, everyone in the city will believe the Steel Saw riders tried to start a war.”
“And you think that makes you untouchable?”
“No. I think it makes you irrelevant.”
The call ended.
Riker lowered the phone.
Moose watched him.
“What did he say?”
“That Leo's mother is part of the plan.”
“Damn it.”
“He also confirmed that the people at the factory know who we are and what we're doing.”
Moose stared at the building.
“Then we get the kid out of town.”
“No.”
“Riker—”
“We don't move him without considering what that might do to his mother. We don't turn a frightened nine-year-old into a fugitive because a man on the phone wants us to panic.”
“Then what?”