By three o'clock the following morning, the boathouse had become a high-stakes tactical interrogation suite. Carl had navigated his unmarked surveillance camper van to the wooded access lane behind the riverbank, carrying fresh dry tactical clothing, satellite uplinks, and a medical kit. But more importantly, Carl had brought a prize. Sitting zip-tied to a heavy wooden workbench in the boathouse workshop, nursing a broken jaw and a dislocated shoulder, was…
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