“Senator Cooper?”
Jason killed the engine, then Scott pushed open his door and stepped out.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer added. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s no problem, Officer,” Scott said. “We’re here to help. Who’s the officer in charge?”
We all stepped out and the cop led us toward the gate. A middle-aged officer with a short stocky build stepped out of a group when he saw us approach.
“It’s good to see you, Senator,” he said, shaking Scott’s hand.
After brief introductions, Chief Barton led us into the back of a police surveillance truck, then asked the two technicians seated at monitors to step outside.
“We have the place completely surrounded,” he said, motioning toward a GPS image of the compound on one of the screens. “There’s been no indication of possible hostages, so our initial strategy has been attrition for the time being, which we hope will soon lead to a surrender.”
“Very good, Chief,” Scott said. “You and your men have done an excellent job. And I was sorry to hear about Officer Tate’s death.” He paused, then added, “Have you come up with any possible infiltration strategies?”
“None that I like,” he replied. “It’s not an easy nut to crack. Lynch made a lucky decision to hide his crew out here.”
“It’s not luck,” I said, speaking up for the first time. Scott and Chief Barton’s eyes gravitated to me. “Deacon Lynch is smarter than the public’s been led to believe. And if he’s here, it’s because he systematically chose this location.”
“Logan’s dealt with Lynch before,” Scott said, backing me up. “And he’s the one who figured out that Lynch was here in the first place.”
The police chief nodded to me, then continued his former train of thought.
“We’ve drawn up a few ideas, but there’s no surefire way here. Old maps show a service road cutting back and coming to within about a quarter mile of the back side of the farm. But from there, we’d have to trudge through acres of unkempt forest and swamp, hoping for some form of path to avoid gators.”
“What is it with twisted Florida murderers and alligators?” Ange said.
I couldn’t help cracking a smile at that. I thought back to when we’d tracked down a trio of serial killer brothers who’d committed various murders across the Everglades for over ten years. They too had lived among alligators, even keeping a few chained up to protect their secret hideout in the middle-of-nowhere swamps.
“The good news is that time is on our side,” Scott said. “If Lynch had hostages and a ticking clock to their potential deaths and lists of demands, this entire operation would be severely altered.”
Scott was right. For the time being, it looked as though we had time to move all the pieces into place before taking the first shot.
We thanked the police chief for all his intel. He told us he’d help us in any way he could, then stepped out of the truck and shut the doors behind him, leaving just the four of us.
Using intel from Chief Barton, as well as information we’d gathered on our own that day, we put together a strike plan. It was intricate and would involve all four of us working together from various positions around the property. Surprise, deception, and swift action were key, and our plan relied heavily on all three. It was dangerous, but there were no three people I’d rather go to battle with than them.
We decided that Scott and Ange would provide cover while Jason and I moved in.
“There’s an old water tower here,” I said, glancing at Ange. “It should offer a good view of the compound for you to cover us with your sniper.”
“That’s nearly half a mile away,” Jason said.
“Child’s play for Ange,” Scott chimed in.
Jason smiled. “Then Scott can operate the drone from there as well,” he added.
“Drone?” I said.
Jason nodded.
“We’ve been working on a brand-new prototype with Murph,” Scott said. “It’s got all of the bells and whistles, plus it’s quiet. Very quiet. And fast, and it’s got a hell of a long range.”
“It’s also been customized with a few… unique features,” Jason said. “It’s got a suppressed .22 pistol with fifteen rounds of ammunition. And a high-powered air gun that can shoot knockout darts up to fifty yards.”
Ange and I exchanged glances. Murph’s inventions were always impressive, but with Jason having inherited his father’s fortune, their designs no longer had any monetary limitations. I was wholly impressed and looked forward to seeing what else they could create.
Working together for over an hour, we went over the plan again and again until we all had it down by heart. We’d underestimated Lynch, and it was time to show him just how much he’d underestimated us as well.
FORTY-THREE
The four of us exited the truck and strode for the back of our Range Rover. Opening the rear door, I reached for our duffle and pulled out Ange’s and my bulletproof vests.
“We’ve got something better for you guys, Logan,” Scott said.
He slid out a big hardcase of their own, hinged it open, and pulled out two black vests that looked like something straight out of a Batman movie.
He handed them to Jason and me, and I was instantly amazed by how light and malleable they were.
“These flimsy things work?” I said.
“They’re made of layers of special extremely high-tensile-strength fibers,” Jason said. “It makes them lighter and gives them better stopping power than ordinary bulletproof vests. Murph worked with a group of top engineers on the design.”
It was nice to see Jason using his father’s dirty money to try and rectify some of his father’s wrongs.
Jason and I donned our vests. I kept my Sig holstered under the right side of my waistband and attached my dive knife to the back of my belt, running it parallel to the ground with the handle facing to my right. Then we all checked our night vision optics, radios, and rifles before loading into the blacked-out SUV.
Scott met with Chief Barton again, letting him know that we were preparing to engage and that Scott would keep him informed of our activity. Then my senator friend climbed into the front seat, started up the engine, then pulled us out and turned around.
According to old maps, the abandoned service road was a mile back in the direction we’d come down the lonely one-lane road. It was difficult to spot, a slight variation in the thick forest. The giveaway was a rusted gate, and I hopped out and made quick work of the lock with a pair of bolt cutters.
Scott drove us onto the pothole-riddled, shrub-covered sorry excuse for a road. The Range Rover handled every twist and turn and drastic deviation in the surface with ease. The road cut north at first, then eventually banked west back toward the alligator farm. Scott killed the headlights. He donned a pair of night vision goggles to navigate in the near pitch black and slowed our speed.
Ange kept her head down, staring at a tablet computer that showed our current position on a GPS. After ten minutes of bouncing, zigging and zagging our way back to the west, Ange told Scott to stop.
“This is it,” she said, spreading two fingers out on the screen to zoom in on the map. She pointed out the left-side window and added, “The fence is almost exactly a quarter of a mile due south from us.”
Scott pulled over but left the engine running. The steady hum wouldn’t be loud enough to hear through all that jungle, but the initial ignition sound of starting it up might.
Jason and I climbed out, opened the back door, and grabbed our weapons of choice. For me it was my trusty M4 Carbine, the shorter and lighter variant of the M16, which was the assault rifle of choice for most SEALs. Jason went with a Heckler and Koch 416, a rifle similar to the M4 but with a slightly longer barrel. For his sidearm, Jason had a holstered black Springfield .45.
We stowed extra magazines for each just in case, then donned and powered on our earpiece radios and night optics. Fully saddled up and ready to roll, we s
hut the back door. I gave Ange a hug through the passenger-side window and assured her that we’d be careful.
“Remember,” Scott said. “Time is on our side.” He glanced at the dashboard clock and added, “It’s already after two. These guys should be getting tired and their initial adrenaline wearing off. Get into position, strike once we’re all set. Proper timing is going to be key here. No need to rush this.”
Jason and I agreed, then crept into the dark forest. Scott put the Range Rover into gear and motored him and Ange onward, continuing west. We traversed through the difficult terrain, observing everything in shades of green from the night vision. We climbed over fallen trees, trudged along muddy bogs, and forced our way through thick shrubs, all the while keeping our eyes peeled for Florida’s most dangerous indigenous residents.
It wasn’t long before we could see light bleeding through breaks in the thick tree coverage. Then the forest opened up, and we reached the chain-link fence surrounding the abandoned farm.
Moving slowly and sticking to the shadows, we crept up to the fence, scaled it, and landed softly on the other side. The fact that there were supposedly over a thousand alligators running wild in the farm didn’t escape our minds. We were in their kingdom, and as we moved in toward the center of the compound, we carefully avoided the notoriously temperamental reptiles that seemed to be lurking in every direction.
We came to a pond roughly the size of a football field. It had an island in the middle that was littered with gators. Around the edges, I counted over a dozen more.
To our satisfaction, we stumbled upon the remnants of an old concrete path that was slightly raised but flanked by overgrown bushes to conceal our approach.
Spotting movement, we dropped behind the cover of an old wooden railing and watched as one of Lynch’s men walked around the back side of the main structure. Standing between us and the buildings was a deep concrete pit that extended into the darkness to our left. To the right of it was a big, fully enclosed cage that was rusted and broken in places, vines crawling all over it.
I tapped the earpiece in my right ear. “We have visual of the compound,” I said.
“Roger that,” Scott replied. “Fox and I are in position,” he added, referring to my wife by her maiden name. “You spot any skins?”
“Just one. Doing rounds on the back side of the main building. Looks bored and tired.”
“Good. You boys sit tight and keep a sharp eye. I’m taking the drone airborne now.”
“Copy that.”
I took my hand off the earpiece. Jason and I stayed still, scanning back and forth over the compound and keeping a sharp eye out for movement.
Minutes after ending the conversation with Scott, Jason tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward the northwestern sky. It was still veiled in clouds, but against the dark backdrop, I just managed to spot movement. Scott piloted the drone at approximately a thousand feet. We could barely see it even with the night vision and couldn’t hear it at all as it flew toward the compound. It performed a quick lap around the structures, parking lot, and driveway, then descended and settled behind a cluster of trees just beside the main building.
While glancing intermittently at the drone, we spotted a second guy as he walked into view from what looked like a garage to our left. He met up with the other guy and they chatted it up for a few minutes.
“There’s three more out front,” Scott said through the tiny radio speaker. “One in the lot and two barricaded behind a stack of wooden crates and barrels in the driveway.”
That accounted for five of them, which meant that the rest were either sleeping, taking cover inside, or looming somewhere else around the compound.
Jason and I examined the scene another minute before deciding on a course of action. We moved right, keeping low and in the darkness, then used the big cage as cover to get within fifty yards of the two men. We arrived just in time to catch the end of their little chat. A phone call to the bigger guy caused them to disperse, one heading right, the other left.
They both had black MP5 submachine guns in their hands. They wore tank tops and dirty pants. They looked tired, but also pissed off. Ready to do something reckless.
I thought over the situation and came up with a plan.
“Scott,” I said into my radio. “Can you take out the guy in the lot without anyone seeing?”
There was a short pause.
“Wait one,” he replied. “I’ll hover over and see his position.”
We watched as the drone flew stealthily up into the dark air, then across to the other side of the compound. Thirty seconds later, Scott replied.
“Affirmative. On your mark.”
I gazed back at the two guys. “All right, Jase,” I said, “time to put an end to this party.”
“What’s the play? Spread out and take these two down at the same time?”
“You read my mind. I got left.”
Before he could protest, I crawled out of our spot. The guy on the left was farther away and had less cover between us. I knew he’d want the harder guy, so I beat him to it. Keeping to lower ground, I slowly made my way along the side of the steep drop into the alligator-infested pit below, then crawled into the dark tree line.
The white supremacist had moved along the right side of the garage. I crept to within ten yards, then snuck even closer, approaching from his six like a stalking jungle cat.
“In position,” I whispered into the radio.
When Jason and Scott both replied that they were ready as well, I counted down.
“Three… two… one…”
I stood and stealthily homed in on the skinhead. Before he knew what was happening, let alone reacted, I tightened my left arm around his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound, then jerked his body back and slammed my right fist into the base of his skull, right at the occipital lobe. The blow caused his legs to give out, and he instantly went unconscious in my arms.
I dragged his body back into the shadows, then wedged him between an overgrown planter box and an old tractor.
Grabbing hold of my M4, I looked up at Jason, who was pulling skinhead number two down into the darkness as well. I moved toward him, keeping my rifle raised and my head on a swivel.
“Scottie, we’ve got two down,” I said into the radio.
“Third’s sleeping in the driveway,” he replied. “This thing works like a dream.”
When I met up with Jason at the back of the main structure, we heard a low voice call out from inside through an open window. It was dirty and cracked, and the interior space was dim. We dropped back and crouched, scanning for a glimpse of the guy.
Suddenly, a door slammed open and a man smoking a cigarette stepped out. He had his rifle held with both hands and focused his angry gaze across the dark, decrepit landscape.
“Where the fuck are the watchstanders?” he yelled.
He fumed, then turned around to head back inside and, I assumed, notify the others. Before he’d taken two steps, I pulled my dive knife free, lunged forward, and let it fly. The titanium blade flew through the air and stabbed into his side. He grunted from the blow, and I sprinted after him, tackling him hard to the ground just as he spotted me. I kept my arm over his mouth to muffle his screams. He punched me hard as I pulled my knife free and stabbed him again, this time through the throat.
As he went limp in my arms, he managed to pull the trigger of his rifle, sending a spray of bullets into the sky. It was like a loud beacon, the bullets shaking the quiet compound to life and alerting the rest of the Aryan Order of our presence. I knocked the rifle from his grasp, finished him off, then jumped to my feet.
We heard more shouting coming from inside, but before we stormed in to engage, Scott’s voice came over our radio.
“The two guys out front are sprinting your way,” he said. “Heading around the north side of the main structure.”
Jason and I raised our rifles, moved along the back side of the structure, and took aim just as the two appro
ached. They looked like spooked animals when they popped around the corner but managed to pull their triggers, sending a spray of bullets right past us. Jason and I dropped left, then opened fire, putting them both down with center-mass shots before they were able to lock in their aims.
Just as I was thinking that the raid was going perfectly, I heard the sound of feet and groaning metal coming from above us. I snapped my head up and spotted one of Lynch’s men. I recognized him as Casper, the young guy I’d met back at Teddy’s Marina and then subsequently beaten to hell. He was still alive, and he was standing on the roof, his rifle aimed straight at us.
FORTY-FOUR
Scott parked the black Range Rover at the base of the hundred-and-thirty-foot water tower. The narrow, frail structure looked like a swift breeze would topple it over at any second. It was rusted, its big tank more reddish-brown than its original white.
He and Ange hopped out and stepped to the back. Opening the rear door, Ange grabbed the hard case with her sniper rifle, slid it into a backpack, then zipped it up and tightened it over her shoulders. Scott popped open a plastic hard case, revealing the state-of-the-art drone along with its various attachments and remote control.
Ange let out a quiet whistle. “And I thought our drone was nice,” she said. She slid the earpiece for her radio into her left ear, then motioned toward the looming tower and added, “I’m heading up.”
“Three points of contact,” Scott said, eyeing the tall, narrow ladder suspiciously.
“I’ve climbed worse,” Ange retorted as she turned and strode toward the base of the tower.
Just getting to the ladder was a challenge. The base had been reclaimed by the jungle surrounding it. Trees and shrubs sprouted up everywhere, and vines climbed the tower’s four gangly metal legs.
The base of the ladder had been blocked off to prevent trespassers from climbing the dangerous route, but it wouldn’t stop Ange. She lunged into a running start, ran up the flat metal barricade for two steps, then jumped and grabbed hold of the closest visible rung. A twist, a pull, and a push with her foot and she was up on the ladder.
Avenged in the Keys Page 20
