Chapter 5 - The Ambush
The humiliation at the gala sent the Sterlings into a frenzied panic. Pierce, the 'fixer' of the family, decided that playing defensive was a mistake. If they could just get Maya back, they could force her to record a video claiming the audio was a deepfake.
Pierce hired a private military contracting firm—four men, ex-mercenaries, heavily armed and paid under the table. Their mission: track Maya's phone GPS (which Pierce assumed we hadn't spoofed) to a secluded cabin in the San Bernardino mountains and extract her by any means necessary.
At 2:00 AM, two black SUVs rolled up the dirt road toward the decoy cabin I had leased specifically for this purpose.
The mercenaries stacked up against the heavy wooden door, wearing night-vision goggles and carrying suppressed tactical rifles. The lead man counted down on his fingers. Three. Two. One.
He kicked the door open.
They flooded into the cabin, sweeping the rooms with their laser sights.
"Clear!" one shouted.
"Clear!" said another.
The cabin was completely empty. There was no furniture. No Maya. Just a single, flip-phone resting on the floor in the center of the living room.
Suddenly, the heavy steel-reinforced storm shutters on the outside of the cabin slammed shut, locking automatically. The mercenaries spun around.
The flip-phone on the floor rang.
The lead mercenary slowly picked it up and pressed it to his ear. "Who is this?"
"This is Colonel Elena Roth," my voice echoed through the earpiece. "You boys are standing on a pressure plate wired to two pounds of C4. If you move, the cabin detonates."
The mercenary froze, his eyes widening in terror behind his goggles. "You're bluffing."
"Marines don't bluff," I said calmly. "Look down."
The mercenary shined his flashlight at his feet. A tiny red LED light was blinking beneath a false floorboard.
"Now," I continued, "you have two choices. You can try to run, and I will wipe you off the face of this earth. Or, you can put your weapons on the ground, zip-tie your own hands, and wait for the federal marshals who are currently pulling up to your location."
Outside, the blinding blue and red lights of a dozen armored FBI vehicles illuminated the trees. Sirens wailed through the quiet mountain air.
"Who hired you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
May you like
"Pierce Sterling!" the mercenary shouted, dropping his rifle like it was covered in acid. "He paid us fifty grand! We surrender! We surrender!"
I hung up the phone. Sitting in the war room fifty miles away, I watched the thermal feed as the FBI breached the cabin and dragged the mercenaries out in cuffs. Pierce had just escalated the situation to a federal kidnapping charge. He had handed me the final nail for his own coffin.
