Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 55





1:32 PM

Crystal Source Distribution Plant-White Mills

Honesdale, Pennsylvania



Daniel Petrovich leaned across the Jeep Grand Cherokee's center console and presented his FBI credentials to the gray-haired, uniformed guard at the passenger vehicle gate. The weathered man's light blue eyes widened at the sight of his badge. He leaned closer to the driver's window and peered into the back seat. Melendez and Jessica held up their own credentials, which seemed to satisfy the guard. Daniel smiled from the front passenger seat. Before either of them could speak, five massive Crystal Source semi-trailers trucks passed through the commercial gate on the other side of the glass-enclosed guardhouse, headed for Route Six. He wondered if the trucks carried any of the virus-laced water. He waited for the last truck to pass before speaking.

"I'm Special Agent Harris with the Philadelphia field office. I need to speak with the distribution center manager, Bob Wilkins, immediately. Al Qaeda extremists have made a specific threat against this facility. Is his office nearby?"

"Holy cow! He's right in that building there. See that door on the far left? His secretary sits in there. She's not in today, but pretty much everyone else is. Do I need to close the gate once you're through?"

"No. You're fine for now. We have agents watching the roads, but I really need to talk to Mr. Wilkins about specific personnel employed at the facility. Keep this to yourself for now. Mr. Wilkins will notify the security manager about the new procedures to be implemented. Personally, I'd like to see a few more guards at this gate."

"I've been saying that for years! Jesus. This is some scary shit. We have several Arab guys working here!"

"Damn right it's scary. Our mission is to make sure that important sites like this remain in operation. Keep up the good work. We'll get you those reinforcements," Daniel said.

"Let me get the gate! Park anywhere in that lot," he said and pointed at a building across the road, surrounded by a full parking lot. The guard ducked back into the security shack and activated the gate. Munoz started to drive the Cherokee away.

"One of them works in the same building!" the guard yelled.

"One of who?" Daniel said.

"One of those Arabs!"

Daniel gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up through the passenger window, visible over the top of the SUV. Munoz guided them into the parking lot, looking for an empty space. The security guard wasn't kidding about everyone being in today, which didn't surprise him. This might be the busiest day in Crystal Source's history. Daniel and the rest of the team hadn't seen a bottle of water in stock since they arrived in Scranton. As reported by news agencies, the price of most brands had nearly doubled in the past day, leading to accusations of price gouging. Daniel wondered what the American public would think about the fact that the owner of a major regional bottled water company had a direct hand in creating this frenzy.

"Good thing we left our two resident Al Qaeda lookalikes in the van," Daniel said.

The van was parked a few hundred meters down the road, tucked behind a shuttered business. Graves and Gupta would monitor local and state police channels, having already decrypted all of the P25 digital radio protocols in use within the greater Honesdale area. Disturbingly, they had picked up radio traffic indicating a significant FBI presence in Scranton. Daniel had considered sending the van west to collect data directly from the FBI, but they all agreed that the van would serve them better in a direct support role. If the situation inside the distribution center deteriorated, Fayed and Paracha might have to take control of the gate while Graves and Gupta tried to confuse responding police units.

Daniel glanced beyond the parking lot at the massive industrial buildings lining the street. The amount of activity inside the sprawling complex on a Sunday didn't surprise him given the national panic for bottled water. He had to give True America some credit for this insidiously clever plan. They had managed to prevent millions of Americans from drinking publicly sourced water and drive them right into their open arms. Another convoy of trucks passed the parking lot, headed for the open road. Two convoys in less than three minutes. Crystal Source had three distribution centers located within Honesdale city limits. The sheer volume of bottled water heading out into the population was impressive. He was willing to bet that Owen Mills had been well prepared to take advantage of this sudden windfall. Why not make a little money before you jumpstart the New Recovery?

They had considered the option of tracking down Mills first. He lived in a sprawling lakeside estate south of Honesdale. It was a tempting diversion that they couldn't afford. They had wasted enough time with Michael Brooks at the laboratory. He admitted that True America had manipulated events to drive up bottled water sales, but claimed to know nothing beyond that. It didn't matter as long as he provided them with the right distribution center. He had been willing to spend some time with Brooks to acquire this information.

Their fake FBI agent trick was unlikely to work on more than one site. If their first choice had been the wrong one, it would have taken them forever to figure it out. By then, the word would have spread to the other facilities, turning the next visit into a risky venture on several levels. Even worse, a simple phone call to the Philadelphia field office could unravel their deception with devastating results. From what Graves and Gupta gathered over state police frequencies, over fifty FBI agents had taken up residence in Scranton, including a large tactical team contingency. Brooks' information would prove to be invaluable, if the man hadn't lied. They'd soon find out.

"Jessica and I will deal with Bob Wilkins. If I get the sense that he's involved in the plot, I'm dragging him out of the office. Be ready to secure him in the back seat. I don't have a plan for this one. From what Brooks and Kemp told us, unmarked delivery vehicles have been moving in and out of this facility all night. If Wilkins isn't in on this, I can't imagine this hasn't raised some serious eyebrows in his office. He'll be able to lead us straight to the source. Keep an eye out for any interested parties. If True America is running their endgame out of this facility, they'll have eyes everywhere."

Melendez reached over the back of his seat into the rear cargo compartment and pulled out a compact polymer-constructed P90 submachine gun and handed it forward to Munoz. Designed by Fabrique Nationale, the P90 represented a revolutionary shift in the design of compact, powerful assault weapons. Weighing less than seven pounds fully loaded, the weapon's length measured just less than twenty inches. Modular in design, utilizing a unique, proprietary top-mounted magazine feed system, the P90 could be handled unhindered in the tight confines of a vehicle or building. An integrated Ring Sight system provided quick acquisition, day or night, for Fabrique National's high-velocity, armor-piercing 5.7X28mm ammunition. Melendez pulled three more P90s from the rear, along with a smaller nylon bag containing two dozen 50-round magazines for the submachine guns and suppressors.

Jessica and Daniel exited the vehicle and stood on the driver side for a minute.

"You know what to look for. If he tries to sound any kind of alarm, I need you to put that knife into action. Scare some sense into him, but keep him alive," Daniel said.

"What's your plan?" Jessica asked.

"I'm going to lay it all on him. We'll know by his reaction."

"I'll be ready."

He stared at her, taking his mind out of its mission-focused, system-processing mode for a second. He had no idea what they would face inside Bob Wilkins' office and beyond, but he could guarantee that the closer they came to the source, the more dangerous this would become. He didn't want her here. Bullets didn't show favoritism. They flew fast and straight until they hit something. Even the most unskilled, panicky shooter got lucky on occasion. Combat was all about the odds to Daniel. If you showed up, there was always a chance it could be your last appearance. There were always precautions you could take to improve your chances, but you could never fully eliminate the odds against you. The only guaranteed way to beat the odds was to avoid showing up altogether. They didn't have that option.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Jessica said, smiling.

"Be careful in there," he replied.

She flashed the black Tungsten carbide-coated blade hidden along her left wrist and raised an eyebrow. He nodded at his colleagues in the SUV and walked toward the building, glancing around casually. He didn't see anything obviously out of place, but then again, he didn't expect to see someone leaning against the side of the building smoking cigarettes and pretending to read a newspaper.

They stepped inside the building and saw the empty desk that presumably belonged to the absent receptionist. Jessica minimized the amount of noise the door made by easing it closed. The greeting room contained a green vinyl couch centered on a low coffee table, which was flanked by two similarly appointed chairs. A few particleboard bookcases lined the walls, filled with technical manuals and a few random paperback books and topped with haphazardly spaced, framed award certificates. Beyond the receptionist's simple faux mahogany desk, he could see two low, cream-colored file cabinets. A thick CRT monitor sat on the corner of the desk, next to a stainless-steel swing-arm desk lamp. Altogether, it looked like the lamp and computer monitor had been the only additions made to the reception area within the last two decades.

They waited a few seconds to see if anyone would respond before walking toward the open doorway leading deeper into the building. He could hear voices from the hallway and telephones ringing. As they approached the door, a thin, balding man with wisps of white hair clinging stubbornly to the sides of his mottled skin appeared in the opening. He wore a pressed pair of basic khaki pants and a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt with a light blue tie. A faded brown stain stood out prominently on the left breast pocket of his shirt.

"Thanks for coming by, but all sales appointments are going through corporate headquarters over at the Park Street facility. I can give you the number, but I don't know if you'll have much luck with a walk-in order today. I'm pretty sure they're all booked up, as you can imagine. You drive up from Philly?" the man said.

"We have an appointment with Bob Wilkins," Daniel said.

The man's friendly demeanor faded as he folded his arms. "I'm Bob Wilkins, and I don't appreciate sales reps who try to play games. Who are you two with?" he said, raising his eyebrows and crinkling his expansive forehead.

"Bob, can we talk privately?" Daniel asked.

Daniel held out his FBI credentials, while Jessica put herself in a position to reach through the door and grab him if necessary. Wilkins noticed her quick repositioning, his attention now torn between Jessica's close proximity and the badge.

"It has to do with the unusual vehicle traffic here at the White Mills facility, which started last night around five and has run pretty much nonstop since then," Daniel explained.

Bob Wilkins moved further into the room and closed the door behind him. "It's better if we have a seat and pretend you're from the Villanova University concessions. I'm not sure what's going on around here right now."

They all took seats around the coffee table.

"Is this serious?" Wilkins asked.

"Extremely. What have you noticed beyond the vehicle traffic?" Daniel said.

"Look, I've been a loyal employee here for thirty-three years. Maybe I should talk with a lawyer first, or at least have one present."

"Why? Are you directly involved in something that might require legal representation?" Jessica asked.

"No, not at all. But I run this facility, and I'm responsible for everything that goes on here," Wilkins protested.

"You're not under investigation, Mr. Wilkins, and we don't have time for lawyers. I have a tactical team waiting outside, ready to move within minutes," Daniel said.

"What? What are you talking about?" he said, trying to look past Jessica through the front door.

"We know for a fact that a terrorist cell is operating somewhere in your distribution center. All I need you to do is show us where."

"I don't know anything about a terrorist cell. How would I know where they are located?"

"They're using your facility and your vehicles to mass distribute biological weapons. I think you have a pretty good idea where we might find them," Daniel said.

"D-5. Son-of-a-bitch," Wilkins whispered.

"What does that mean? D-5?" Jessica asked.

"D-5 is one of the most isolated loading bay complexes. Mr. Mills shut this one down after the demand for water skyrocketed. Said he would be using it for special customer deliveries."

"Did he give any specific information about the deliveries?" Jessica said.

"Nothing, and I didn't ask questions. I'm too close to retirement to rock the boat. I figured he was sending shipments to preferred customers or private ones. It's his company. He can do whatever he wants. I just didn't appreciate the impact it had on my operations. He's taken over twenty of my drivers out of the rotation, plus several trucks…not to mention an entire bay complex. Then he cuts me completely out of it and puts some woman I've never heard of in charge out there. Anne Renee or something like that. I told him I'd be happy to run the show, but he didn't want to hear it."

"The woman isn't someone from Crystal Source?"

"I have no idea. Never seen her before at any of the management meetings or retreats. Every time I go over there to talk to her about coordinating gate traffic, I'm told she's busy."

"Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?"

"Yeah. None of the trucks are from Crystal Source. I saw a few Dasani rigs. You can't miss those. Arrowhead and Aquafina rigs too. I have no idea why these trucks would be at our facility."

Daniel looked at Jessica and shook his head. "So much for narrowing this down," he said ruefully. He turned back to Wilkins. "Mr. Wilkins, I need you to take us to D-5."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea. They have a lookout or something posted outside. It's a long way from D-4 to D-5. Nothing in between. I never get past the guy outside."

"We'll take care of that. Do you have any idea how many people they have inside?" Jessica asked.

"I've never been inside, but they'd need at least a dozen to keep up the pace of trucks leaving the complex. Forklift operators and drivers to deliver the pallets of water. Aside from some of the drivers, the rest of the personnel were supplied by Anne Renee or Mills himself," Wilkins said.

Daniel thought about something he had said earlier. "Are the Crystal Source trucks equipped with GPS? Can you track them?"

"Absolutely. We track the entire fleet from one of the rooms down the hallway. All of the routes are preplanned. If a driver has to vary due to road closures or an accident, they call it in and we reprogram their route. It's pretty high tech. I have a bunch of smart people running that. Each distribution center tracks its own shipments," Wilkins said.

"I'm willing to bet they've been disabled, but it's worth a shot," Daniel said.

"You want to try and locate those trucks? I know which ones they are," Wilkins said.

"Not yet. Let's take a look at D-5 first."

Five minutes later, Wilkins, Jessica and Daniel drove off in Wilkins' Ford Taurus sedan, with the Jeep Grand Cherokee trailing a short distance back. Daniel crouched low behind the back of the front passenger seat, cradling a suppressed P90. The plan was simple. Jessica would accompany Wilkins into the building, with the hope of identifying Anne Renee. Jessica would grab the woman, and Daniel would take down the lookout. Melendez and Munoz would then drive to the back of the loading bay to prepare for a two-pronged assault. Every attempt to take prisoners would be made where practical. They needed information regarding any of the trucks that had left the loading bay since yesterday evening.


**

Anne Renee Paulson's radio chirped.

"Now what?" she said in front of the two security guards stationed just inside the first bay.

The guy outside was starting to drive her crazy, and she was one false report away from replacing him with one of the less jumpy men watching the bays. The operation had gone off without a hitch. The unusual arrangement had drawn some attention and protest from the facility manager, but Owen Mills had squashed that pretty quickly. Aside from a few impotent visits by that aging idiot Wilkins, nobody had bothered them. She had one more convoy to deploy, and then they would close up shop and disappear. Unlike the laboratory, there would be no need for a "clean up." She was the only person in the warehouse that had any true concept of what they were loading onto the convoys, and even she had no idea where they were headed.

Mills had given her six locked metal containers, numbered one through six. She had been instructed to hand the appropriately labeled box to the lead driver right before departure. The driver would open the box, in front of Anne Renee, with a key personally provided by Owen Mills at some point yesterday. Mills had handpicked the lead driver for each convoy over a year ago and sent them through extensive training courses at the Hacker Valley compound. They were experienced semi-truck drivers, holding current operating licenses for the rigs they would drive, and they understood the importance of ensuring the delivery of their precious cargo. The rest of the drivers came from Crystal Source and had no idea what they were transporting.

Anne Renee discovered that each box contained a handheld GPS receiver, which she presumed to be preprogrammed, an Iridium satellite phone with charger, and a sealed folder. Each driver activated the equipment and verified that it functioned correctly. She assumed that they would call a phone number for further details regarding their delivery. She had no idea what the folder might contain. Possibly the paperwork for the final transfer of the bottled water? Contracts and delivery agreements? She didn't care. Her job was to get all six convoys on the road without incident. Her radio echoed the voice of Sean Thompson.

"Ms. Paulson, Wilkins is here again, and he brought some woman with him. Says it's really important that he speaks with you."

"I don't have time to talk with Mr. Wilkins. I'll stop by his office when we are finished with Mr. Mills' business. Let him know that," she said.

"All right."

There was an awkward, silent pause, as she shook her head and waited to hear that Wilkins and his guest were leaving. She stood with her back to the door leading into the front office guarded by Thompson, staring at the bustling facility. Two forklifts moved back and forth from the furthest bay, transporting crates to the bays accommodating the back of each trailer. They had almost loaded most of the final convoy—four semi-trailers filled with crates of Crystal Source water. Another hour of work and they would all drive out of the White Mills distribution center and go their separate ways. Anne Renee was supposed to meet Brown later to receive instructions for the next phase of the New Recovery plan. According to Lee Harding and Jackson Greely, she would play an important role. She had no idea if she would see any of these people again or what the next phase entailed.

"Ma'am," came the guard's voice again, "Wilkins says the woman is the Distribution Center's Operations Manager. There's something wrong with one of the trucks we dispatched earlier. He's pretty pissed off."

She shook her head and cursed before transmitting. "All right. Let them into the office. I'll meet them inside," she said and pocketed the radio. She looked at both of the security guards. "There's too much at stake here to take any risks. If they won't leave immediately, be ready to kill them where they stand. No mercy. Keep your pistols concealed for now."

Anne Renee opened the door just as Bob Wilkins and a strikingly attractive, well-poised woman walked through the entrance. The woman had an exotic quality, accentuated by her short brown hair and well-tanned skin. Like herself, this woman looked out of place in Honesdale, Pennsylvania, especially at an industrial site. Despite the fact that she had only stepped into the building once and had never met anyone beyond Wilkins, Anne Renee highly doubted that Bob's mystery guest worked in that shit hole of a building he called home. Her presence was a disturbing development, but one Anne Renee could rectify quickly. One hour. All she had to do was keep this place together for one more hour, regardless of how many bodies piled up in the front office.


**

Jessica couldn't hear what the guard was being told. His handheld radio was equipped with an earpiece. The guard didn't carry himself like any of the operatives they'd encountered in Atlanta and even looked slightly less competent than the security personnel at the laboratory. She started to wonder if Brooklyn and Atlanta had made a serious dent in True America’s supply of seasoned operatives. Then again, this guy was just a lookout. The real threats would be contained inside the building.

The bulky guard nodded his head a few times and responded to the voice in his earpiece.

"Go ahead. Ms. Paulson will meet you just inside," he informed them.

They walked up the gray wooden stairs onto a raised platform just outside of the entrance. The guard watched them carefully. When they reached the door, Jessica let Wilkins lead the way. He knew the building, and Ms. Paulson would be expecting to see him first. She didn't expect handshakes to be exchanged, so she shifted her knife from the left to right hand. She could fight with the knife in either hand, but heavily favored her right hand for throwing. She didn't expect Paulson to be alone.

As Wilkins stepped through the threshold of the door, Jessica heard a thump from her immediate left. She turned her head casually, hoping not to attract attention from anyone inside. The guard collapsed against the cinderblock wall and slid to the raised concrete platform, trailing a crimson streak. She caught movement out of her peripheral vision and knew that Daniel had opened the rear passenger car door. Wilkins had advised them to park to the left of the door, since it would be out of sight from inside the office. Everything was moving quickly. She turned forward and stepped into the dank office. She could tell by the musty smell that the office hadn't been used in years.

Just as she walked through the entry, a door in the left rear corner of the office opened, revealing a woman with blond hair worn in a modern-looking bob. She wore a gray fleece jacket over a white collared blouse, along with wheat brown slacks. She was immediately followed by two serious-looking gentlemen dressed in casual business attire and wearing unzipped, hip-level jackets.

She didn't like the odds. Daniel had her back, but a lot could go wrong in a few seconds. Hopefully, Bob Wilkins wouldn't panic and freeze. They had instructed him to drop to the floor if anyone flashed a gun. Wilkins didn't like the sound of this. He reiterated his earlier observation that he had expected to see more agents and continued to protest on the ride over. He was sharp enough to realize that they were going up against heavy odds.

"Who are you?" Paulson said, directing her glare at Jessica.

"Jessica Petrovich. Thank you for seeing us," she said, extending her left hand and willing her to take it.

Paulson regarded her for a moment and nodded to the two men on her left. "Do it."

Jessica didn't waste a fraction of a second trying to interpret her remark. She'd been prepared for the likelihood of a summary execution attempt and had already rehearsed her options. However, she hadn't anticipated the speed with which Paulson could draw her weapon. In the brief moment she had to initiate her plan, Jessica realized that the small space between them would get messy.

She reached behind her back as far as possible and snapped it forward, releasing the blade as she lurched for Paulson's hand. An overhand throw would have generated more momentum, but she didn't have time to raise her hand. As the knife penetrated the closest guard's throat, just above the Adam's apple, she swept Paulson's black semiautomatic pistol to the left and pivoted, grabbing the top of her shooting wrist with her right hand as it continued across from the knife throw. This briefly put her in a vulnerable position, with her back against Paulson.

Instead of fighting Jessica's grip, the woman kneed Jessica in the lower left back. The intensely sharp pain caused by the blow to her kidney forced Jessica to release her grip on Paulson's wrist. Desperate, Jessica launched herself backward into the woman, slamming her into the bookshelf along the wall. Jessica jabbed her elbow back sharply, catching Paulson in the throat and causing her to drop the pistol. Another elbow shot separated them, allowing Jessica to spin and face her. Expecting to defend another round of attacks, she squared her feet and raised her arms as her body turned; however, Paulson had decided to retreat. The woman threw herself backward, catapulting through the doorway leading into the loading bays, and screamed for help.


**

Daniel knew she would make her move quickly, so he hustled out of the car as soon as Melendez dropped the guard standing next to the door on the platform. He had timed the shot perfectly with Wilkins' entrance. The old man had been out of sight when the contents of the guard's head painted the wall. Wilkins was already nervous enough, and his actions could affect the outcome in that room. Daniel sprinted up the stairs and listened to the voice-activated feed sent from a microphone hidden inside Jessica's jacket collar to their earpieces. Once he heard Jessica's greeting, he mentally counted to two and opened the door. Jessica planned to grab Anne Renee if she took the handshake or pounce on her within a few seconds if she refused. Either way, his mission was the same: fire controlled bursts from the P90 into anyone except for Jessica or Anne Renee.

Tucked into the P90, he immediately assessed the situation and chose his targets. The closest guard had drawn his pistol, but was pretty far from pointing it in a useful direction. Primary threat. The second guard had raised both hands to his neck in response to Jessica's knife. Secondary threat. He didn't see any firearms involved in the melee between Jessica and Anne Renee. Under control. He placed the closest guard's head in the center of the P90's integrated Ring Sight and pulled the trigger back for a controlled burst. The P90's unusually high rate of fire sent six 5.7X28mm SS190 full metal-jacketed rounds into the man's head, which was overkill for this armor-piercing caliber. He shifted the sight to the other man and applied less pressure to the trigger, firing one round, which had the same effect. The P90 had a double trigger action, instead of a selector switch. Pulling the trigger back past a certain point activated its fully automatic action. By the time he had finished clearing the room, Jessica had disappeared through the open doorway leading deeper into the facility, chasing after their high-value target.

"Jessica's in pursuit. Move around the back," he said out loud, hoping that Munoz was already driving the Cherokee toward the loading bay side of the building.

Daniel didn't wait. He rushed through the room, pushing aside Bob Wilkins and leaping over the guard with the blade embedded in his neck. When he reached the doorway, he didn't burst through like his wife. He leaned inside, aiming the P90, and formed an image. The loading bay connected to the office contained several pallets of Crystal Source water bottles piled along the wall closest to the opening. A forklift driver, oblivious to the drama behind him, backed his yellow machine from the rear of the semi-trailer. He could see the far end of the loading bay complex through large openings at the back of each bay, designed to allow the forklifts to move from bay to bay with ease. Jessica was in the middle of the second bay, sprinting toward the next opening, ignoring everything but Anne Renee Paulson, who was wrestling an M4 rifle from one of her guards.

One of the men Jessica had passed on her way to the second bay drew a pistol and started to run in her direction. Daniel placed the man's upper torso at the top of the T-shaped reticle and pulled the trigger, firing a burst. He immediately switched to Anne Renee, who had grabbed the M4 and had swung its barrel in Jessica's direction. He didn't weigh his options with Jessica at risk. Jessica was in the open, with little hope of getting behind cover in time. He depressed the trigger, firing a short burst that mostly hit Anne Renee in the upper chest and neck. His next burst struck the guard next to her, who had barely recognized the threat to their facility before several armor-piercing bullets punctured his face and eliminated any future possibility of forming thoughts. The guard's body collapsed to the concrete floor next to Anne Renee, who had fallen to her knees with a confused look on her face. She wasn't dead, but it was clear that her body wasn't sending commands to her limbs. She had already released the rifle's pistol grip, dropping the M4 to the dull concrete.

Jessica reached the wall separating bays one and two, kneeling behind it. She glanced up at him and cursed. They had lost their high-value target, which could be a problem. The sound of yelling started to increase from the bays further down the long access corridor in front of Daniel. All along the back of the complex, members of True America started to realize that something was wrong. A woman peeked around the same corner hiding Jessica and fired some kind of submachine gun on full automatic at his position in the doorway. The bullets slammed into the doorframe and flew through the opening, puncturing the opposite wall and shredding an empty bookcase.

Daniel leaned in with the P90, just in time to see the woman's head disappear behind the wall. He signaled for Jessica to lie flat. Once she cleared the spot where he had calculated the shooter to be located, he depressed the trigger and held it back, perforating the wall above Jessica with the magazine's remaining rounds. At a rate of 900 rounds per minute, the fifty-round magazine could be expended within three seconds, with little loss of control. His weapon fired for roughly two seconds, each armor-piercing round passing easily through the cinderblock and showering Jessica with chunks of the powder-covered debris.

Through the soccer-ball-sized hole blown through the cinderblock, he saw a body lurch forward. A bloodied hand flopped into view past the corner. Before reloading, he drew his USP Compact and slid it to Jessica. He noticed that she didn't attempt to stand up. After what he had just done to the woman behind the wall, he didn't blame her. If the woman past Jessica had been using similar ammunition, Daniel would be lying on the floor bleeding from multiple holes. Her 9mm rounds severely damaged the cinderblock barrier in front of Daniel, but failed to penetrate with the needed velocity to do more than spray cinderblock pieces into his face. He suspected that the True America operatives were using hollow-point ammunition, which would mushroom upon impact and impart their energy over a wider area, further reducing their penetration power. Still, there were no guarantees in the world of projectile ballistics. He'd seen and caused his share of anomalies.

He replaced the P90's fifty-round magazine and sprinted across the bay to Jessica. Gunfire erupted when he left the doorway, but most of the fire was directed at his previous position. He heard the snap and hiss of several near misses, as less experienced shooters poured rounds behind him. By the time they decided to adjust their fire, he had already cleared the open area between bays. When he reached Jessica, she was lying prone, covering the three men who stood with their hands in the air near the forklift. A massive gunfight erupted deeper within the loading complex.


**

Melendez climbed back into the passenger seat of the Cherokee and slammed the door shut. He had just pulled off a headshot with a single, suppressed 5.7X28mm round, at a range of 42 meters using the P90's unmagnified Ring Sight. Given the fact that he had limited experience with the weapon, he was rightfully proud of the accomplishment. They had parked the SUV just out of sight around the next loading bay complex, in a position that allowed Melendez to open the door and brace the P90 against its outer edge. Munoz had parked the vehicle perfectly. The P90's reticle barely cleared the corner of the building, but gave him an unobstructed line of fire to the guard. Munoz had stood behind him to make the determination regarding Wilkins' position. A light tap on the shoulder indicated that Wilkins had entered the building and would not see the man's head splatter the wall. The 5.7 round performed as advertised.

The SUV lurched forward before the door closed, slamming Melendez against the headrest. Munoz drove across the wide expanse of crumbling asphalt that separated the two loading complexes. The large space between buildings was designed to accommodate the semi-trailers that would be navigated into position along the multiple loading bays behind the building. He drove diagonally across the asphalt, ignoring the faint markings indicating a proposed traffic flow. They needed to be in position at the corner of the building within seconds in order to effectively support Jessica and Daniel. Melendez could see the cab of the first semi-rig beyond the corner and hoped that the driver was inside the building. They had no idea how far the conspiracy penetrated, but they assumed the drivers would be heavily armed.

The car reached the corner, and Melendez piled out, following Munoz into position at the corner. They both heard Daniel give the order to move, followed seconds later by the thunder of automatic gunfire. They turned the corner and stared at the first trailer. He could see the next trailer through the space underneath. Their quickest route to the last bay would be underneath the trailers. The gunfire intensified inside the first bay as they approached the trailer. Melendez caught some movement in his left peripheral vision and shifted the P90 to meet the threat. A man jumped down from the driver's door with an MP-5K in his right hand, but collapsed to the asphalt in a heap. Melendez had fired an extended burst from the P90 at his center mass before sliding under the trailer behind Munoz.

Glancing up at the bays as they moved through the fleet of trailers, they could tell that it would be a tight fit squeezing through the openings between the trailer sides and loading dock. They ducked under the second to last trailer, coming up on the last bay. A quick movement to their left brought both P90s up to their shoulders. Neither of them fired at the bearded, pot-bellied Grizzly Adams lookalike standing with his hands in the air.

"Federal agents. How long have you been with True America?" Munoz said, flashing his badge.

"What? I've lived in America all my life. Look. I'm getting paid double for this haul. I don't ask questions, as long as they're just loading water in my rig. If Mr. Mills has paranoid friends that want to guard their water shipment, that ain't none of my business," the man said.

The sound of automatic gunfire and individual pistol shots rang out, slightly muffled by the thick rubber seal linking the back of the trailer to the bay.

"Could you move your rig up a few feet so we can get into the bay? We'll make sure our people know whose side you're on. Stay in your cab until we come back for you," Munoz requested.

"No problem. I got nothing to do with this shit." Grizzly Adams ran back to his cab faster than either of them thought possible.

The diesel rumbled to life and lurched forward a few feet. Munoz and Melendez climbed into the bay undetected and started to clear the complex.


**

Jessica couldn't believe how badly she had f*cked up their one chance at grabbing Anne Renee Paulson. She had underestimated the woman on every level. The knee shot to her kidney had come a fraction of a second before she could throw her elbow, stunning her long enough to lose physical contact. Then she had recklessly chosen to pursue her through the doorway into the open bay area. She'd left Daniel with no choice but to kill her. She really hoped her decision didn't jeopardize their ability to track the shipments.

An incredible overpressure filled her ears, followed by repeated blasts, which caused her to press both of her palms against the sides of her head. Muzzle flashes extended beyond the wall in front of her, heating her face. Someone had just emptied an entire magazine on full automatic less than a foot from her face. The ringing in her ears continued when the gun fell silent. Daniel signaled for her to go prone, which she immediately acknowledged by diving to the cold concrete floor, facing away from the corner. She never heard the fusillade of bullets puncturing the wall where she once knelt, but she felt the jagged pieces of cinderblock pepper her back and strike her head.

A black semiautomatic pistol slid in front of her, which she grabbed without wasting the time to acknowledge her generous benefactor. She rose to one knee and aimed at the men near the back of the open trailer in bay one. None of them appeared to be armed. From the looks on their faces, they didn't appear to have any interest in weapons. Their hands flew skyward. A few seconds later, she saw Daniel burst through the doorway, headed in her direction. He reached her unscathed, despite the maelstrom of bullets that struck the bay wall behind him. She felt his comforting hand on her shoulder and could tell he was trying to tell her something.

She looked at him and shook her head. "I can't hear anything," she said, which came out at full volume.

Daniel nodded his head and pointed at the three men. She understood.


**

Daniel grimaced when Jessica yelled at him. The machine-gun blasts had induced a temporary hearing loss that could last most of the day, producing a ringing or buzzing sound that would gradually diminish. This could become a considerable liability for their team if they decided to raid Mills' lakeside mansion. Satisfied that Jessica had this group under control, he spun around and faced the corner, determined to draw this battle to a quick end.

He raised the suppressed P90 and peeked around the corner, drawing fire from a guard hidden behind a forklift parked two bays down. The small-caliber rounds struck the wall in front of Daniel, spraying his face with sharp fragments and causing him to flinch. The gunfire was relatively accurate for fully automatic bursts, but not accurate enough to suppress Daniel. He placed the shooter's head at the top of the Ring Sight's T-shaped reticle and pulled the trigger back far enough to fire a short burst of three rounds. The result was immediate, knocking the shooter back through the red cloud that had exploded from his head. He was starting to get the hang of this exotic weapon.

He detected movement to the left and aimed at a point two feet in, along the inner wall separating bays two and three. He'd seen something low profile peek around the corner. A quick peek from someone being cautious. He depressed the trigger again, holding it down for a second, sending roughly a dozen rounds through the cinderblock wall. A figure stumbled into the open past the corner, holding a standard Heckler and Koch MP-5 in one hand. Daniel couldn't see the entry wounds, but knew the man was finished. He let the man crumble to the concrete without taking further action to hasten his fall.

"Bay six clear. M and M clearing bay five," he heard in his earpiece.

From the far reaches of the loading complex, he saw two men take position along the furthest opening. They started cycling their weapons immediately through targets located in the furthest bays. Daniel couldn't hear their weapons from this distance, but he could tell they were actively clearing the bay. Specifically designed for the P90, the attached Gemtech suppressors reduced the sound produced by the weapon to the gun's own internal mechanism. Standing several feet away, it would sound like someone rapidly pulling the charging handle. At fifty feet, it would draw little attention from someone not attuned to the sound of suppressed firearms.

Determining that the opening directly in front of him was clear, he extended his torso around the corner, peering into the bay. Aside from several dozen pallets of bottled water set against the wall, the bay looked clear. He saw some movement deep inside the semi-trailer, behind a stack of secured pallets, but nobody fired at him from that direction. He motioned for them to come out of the trailer and waited.

"Bay five clear," he heard in his earpiece.

"Bay one clear. Clearing bay two. Watch inside the trailers. I found a few hiding," Daniel replied.

He saw M and M move cautiously through bay five. When they reached the opening to bay four, automatic gunfire thundered throughout the complex. The long bursts of fire concentrated on the corners hiding the two operatives. Dozens of projectiles tore the cinderblock barrier apart, cracking it in several places and exploding jagged pieces across the concrete floor. He was really glad they were using standard ammunition. The industrial-grade walls separating the bays continued to prove effective cover against 9mm projectiles.

The men in the trailer walked out with their hands on their heads. Daniel sprinted around the corner and approached them, keeping an eye on bay three. He didn't see anyone in the brief second he was exposed.

"Face against the wall, on your knees. Fingers interlaced."

He circled behind the men as they quickly moved against the wall. Once they were flush against the wall, he frisked them for weapons, finding a 9mm Beretta pistol on the first man. He tucked this into his belt and completed the search of the other two, yielding nothing but a stainless-steel multi-tool.

"True America?" Daniel said, slapping the first man's head.

The light-haired man nodded, and Daniel went to work with the oversized zip ties stuffed into his front jacket pockets. He secured the man's wrists and ankles, connecting the two zip ties together with a third, effectively hog-tying the man. He pulled the scruffy-looking guy to the concrete.

"What about the rest of you?" he hissed.

"I was offered overtime. Been working since last night. Same with Benny," he said, nodding at the other guy.

"Don't move from this spot or I'll kill you. Understood?"

The two men nodded.

"Bay four clear."

One more bay to go. Daniel arrived at the corner in time to see two men take up position behind a stack of empty pallets to fire on Munoz and Melendez. He fired extended bursts at both men, instantly dropping them to the ground behind the blood-sprayed wood. Each of the terrorists' upper torsos had absorbed roughly half of the P90's remaining twenty-eight rounds, which tumbled upon entry, fragmenting bone and jellifying their chest cavities. They were dead before their bodies started to fall.

Daniel detected movement to his left. Something moving fast. His world exploded a millisecond later.


**

Melendez hit the corner hard and dropped to a prone position. He didn't want a repeat of what happened in the last bay. He had been hammered by the repeated impact of cinderblock chunks, as the bullets pulverized the reinforced wall in front of him. The combination of stinging fragments and the prolonged sound of automatic gunfire caused him to instinctually crouch, knowing on some level that the wall wouldn't resist the 9mm onslaught much longer. He wasn't sure how many of the bullets had made it through, but a sizable hole remained when the guns fell silent. Large enough for him to use as a firing port to clear his side of the room.

He heard the mechanical sound of a suppressed P90. Two long bursts. He slid into a firing position at the corner of the wall and leaned his weapon in to take a quick look. Two men immediately filled his view, both carrying drum-fed shotguns. Melendez fired a quick center of mass burst at the man aiming the shotgun in his direction and retracted his head. The first shotgun blast disintegrated a 2x2-foot section three feet above his head. The rest of the 12-gauge 00 buckshot went high as the mortally wounded shooter lost the ability to control the shotgun. Still, he managed to fire the entire thirty-round drum, even as he fell backward. His efforts brought down half of the cinderblock onto Melendez and punched several dozen holes through the roof. Because of the devastating shotgun blasts and hailstorm of concrete, he assumed that both shooters had unloaded on his wall.


**

Jessica felt the vibrations and miniature shockwaves produced by the automatic fire deeper inside the loading complex. She could also hear a low thumping sound over the persistent buzzing and ringing. Her sudden deafness left her feeling exposed. She constantly looked around, painfully aware of the fact that she couldn't hear someone walk up to her. She glanced back and forth between the blasted cinderblock corner and the three men. They looked terrified of the gunfire.

"Stay right here," she said, knowing that she had probably yelled this at them.

Against her better judgment and training, she left the men alone and scrambled for the opening. She reached the corner in time to see the wall next to Daniel explode, knocking him backward. The explosions continued, vaporizing sections of the wall, but sparing Daniel any further concussive damage. He scurried backward along the floor, losing his grip on the P90, as a figure shouldering a Saiga shotgun attempted to round the corner. The man repeatedly discharged the shortened semiautomatic shotgun as he walked, emboldened by the sheer firepower at his disposal. He appeared oblivious to Jessica's sudden presence.

She lined up the HK USP Compact's three-dot sight on the man's head and fired a single shot that stopped the firing. The man stumbled forward, discharging the weapon into the concrete one last time, before falling onto the clumsy shotgun. Daniel lay on his back, fumbling with an unfamiliar Beretta, which he finally extended toward the fallen shooter. He stared at her in disbelief and winked, which was the extent of the acknowledgement she required for saving his ass. She smirked, shaking her head, and turned to deal with the men she had left unattended. Thankfully, they hadn't moved a centimeter.


**

Daniel's ears rang, but he had no problem hearing Munoz.

"All clear in bay three. You okay in there?" Munoz yelled through the opening.

"I think so. How the f*ck did you miss the guy with the Saiga?" Daniel yelled, making no effort to stand up.

"Two guys with Saigas. The other one f*cked up Melendez. They came out of nowhere," Munoz said, showing his face through one of the holes in the wall.

Daniel sprang to his feet and retrieved the P90. "Jessica's deaf. Help her out with the prisoners and get Wilkins back in here. We may need him," he said, pointing at Anne Renee's contorted body.

"Shit. I'm on it," Munoz said and ran toward bay one. Daniel reloaded while walking toward Melendez. A gray, cement-powder-encrusted form lay still among the rubble.

"I'm fine," Melendez said, lifting his head from the pile.

He spit a few marble-sized chunks from his mouth and shook the debris from his head. Daniel offered him a hand and examined the bay. Four men dead and two huddled inside the back of the semi-trailer with their hands on their heads.

"Any live ones in bays five and six?"

"Negative. We cleared anything that moved," Melendez said.

"How did you get in?" Daniel said, glancing at the tightly sealed docking connection around the open trailer.

"The driver pulled forward a few feet to let us in. He must have been one of Wilkins' regular drivers. The driver of the first truck was definitely True America. He jumped down from his cab with an MP-5K."

"Go back out and get him. We need to talk to a driver," Daniel said.

"Got it."

Melendez rushed through the bays, trailing concrete dust. Daniel ran to the back of the trailer truck and ordered the two men forward. He hustled them at gunpoint toward bay two after a quick search. When he arrived in bay two, he found all three of the men pressed firmly against the wall. He was slightly surprised to see that the two unsecured men hadn't fled during the shotgun attack. He pointed at the hog-tied terrorist.

"Drag him by his legs into the first bay," he ordered, then turned toward the room and yelled, "I want all of the prisoners assembled against the wall in bay one."

Daniel planned to spend one minute determining who would leave with them. He couldn't imagine they would be able to stay here for much longer. The gun battle inside the warehouse was sure to have attracted attention. He expected to hear from Graves shortly. When he reached bay one, he directed the seven men to stand with their backs to the wall. The True America prisoner was thrown against the cinderblocks by the warehouse loaders, one of whom kicked him in the stomach. He'd start this without Melendez and the driver. They really needed to get out of here.

"Everyone look up at me. I don't work for the FBI or any federal agency. I have no rules or restrictions holding me back, so don't f*ck with me. True America is finished. Jackson Greely, Lee Harding and Owen Mills will be dead before the sun goes down. No mercy will be shown. This is how my organization works. The bottled water loaded onto these trucks carries the same weaponized encephalitis that destroyed a city in Russia and led to the president's national address yesterday morning."

All of them mumbled and protested.

The man restrained on the floor spoke up. "I didn't know the water was poisoned. I was dragged up here to help."

"With a Beretta pistol?" Daniel said.

"That's my own pistol. I'm a local volunteer for True America. I was asked to show up at the loading bay, so I tucked the pistol into my belt when I left last night. It was a little weird getting a call to come here after dark on a Saturday night."

"I know this guy. He's not a troublemaker," vouched one of the men in the line.

"I'm really not interested in a list of civic achievements. I need to know everything this group can tell me about the convoys that left here," Daniel said.

The man on the ground spoke up again. "You need to check the locked box back there on that folding table. Ms. Paulson took one of those outside right before each convoy left. She came back empty handed."

Munoz stumbled back into the warehouse through the office door. "Wilkins split. We need to get out of here immediately."

"Melendez. What's your status?" Daniel said into the comm.

"Got the driver. Checking the other cabs. Looks like the rest of them took off," Melendez replied over the comms channel.

"Understood. Get him into the Cherokee. Search the driver with the MP-5K and take everything. Munoz, search Paulson's body for anything. We move in thirty seconds."

Daniel stepped over to the True America operative on the ground and pulled a small knife. He cut the zip ties restraining the man's legs and pulled him to his feet. He pointed to Jessica and signaled that he wanted her to take custody of the prisoner.

"F*ck with me one bit, and I'll cut your throat," he said, pushing him toward Jessica. "Melendez, bring the car around."

"Give me a minute to search this body," Melendez replied.

"You have about twenty seconds," Petrovich said.

A new voice cut into his earpiece. "I'd recommend driving through the gate within the next sixty seconds. Honesdale dispatch just sent three cars to investigate reports of shots fired at the facility. I'll try to divert them, but this is bound to attract state troopers, which will inevitably drag the FBI into the picture," Graves said.

"Roger. Police en route. Fayed, I need you to intercept a gray Ford Taurus. Should be passing your position shortly. You're looking for a thin, gray-haired gentleman named Bob Wilkins. We need him to identify the drivers assigned to the convoys and help us access company records. Take him to the house."

"I see the Taurus. What the f*ck happened in there? He's driving that thing like a bat out of hell," Fayed said.

"Make sure you grab him. He's our best shot at locating the convoys," Daniel said.

"Copy. Out."

Munoz finished searching Paulson's body, retrieving a cell phone, car keys and a few spare magazines for a pistol.

"Toss me the car keys," Daniel said.

Forty-five seconds later, they were split up between the Cherokee and Paulson's Mercedes SUV, travelling toward the gate. Munoz and Melendez had the True America operative in the Cherokee with the lockbox, while the Petroviches ferried Grizzly Adams. They sailed through the commercial gate unopposed, driving within the speed limit as they navigated toward Route Six. They passed several Honesdale police cars headed to the White Mills Distribution Center, followed closely by Pennsylvania state troopers. He hoped the contents of the box would shed some light on what Jackson Greely and the rest of his True America lunatics had planned for this supposed New Recovery.