One of the younger operators asked the obvious question: how exactly were they supposed to get a convoy of armed men through a guarded private checkpoint without raising alarms? Warren nodded toward Butcher, who was being dragged toward the bus.
“His vehicle gets us in,” the major said. “And his phone.” The team would roll up in the gang’s own SUVs, behind dark tint and familiar plates. The guards at the club would most likely wave them through without a second thought.
And by the time anyone realized the men inside were not their own people but a fully armed tactical team, it would be too late. It was a bold plan, risky to the point of recklessness. But those were often the plans that worked best. Surprise was their biggest advantage.
Sam, having listened to all this, leaned carefully out through his broken side window. “Major, what exactly am I supposed to do with a bus full of angry criminals?” he asked. “They’re liable to start kicking each other to death back there.”
“They won’t,” Warren said. “My men will keep an eye on them the whole way. Your job is simple—get the package to the office in one piece.”
He told Sam they would be met on arrival. “You did good tonight,” Warren added. “Because of you, this road may stay clean for a long while.” Sam swallowed hard and, almost without thinking, gave the major a crisp little nod. “I can do that.”
The clearing buzzed again with organized movement. The injured prisoners got basic first aid and pain relief. Nobody was interested in unnecessary suffering, and investigators would need them conscious and talking later.
The second batch of captives was stacked into the luggage bay right on top of the first. The men already inside looked at the newcomers with open dread. If even Butcher had been taken alive, then the whole operation was in serious trouble.
Meanwhile, the operators quickly got comfortable with the captured luxury vehicles. Two German SUVs and one Japanese truck were still fully usable. They were loaded with ammunition, shields, and breaching gear.
Major Warren took the front passenger seat in Butcher’s SUV, where the gang lieutenant had been riding not long before. The cabin still smelled of expensive cologne and leather, now mixed with wet gear and gun oil. “Radio check,” Warren ordered.
The net came back clean. Same call signs, same teams. The convoy was ready to move. Empire was about half an hour away.
The engines of the black SUVs rumbled to life. The convoy turned out of the clearing and rolled back onto the highway. Moonlight broke through the clouds and lit the wet pavement ahead.
The rain had stopped. Stars were out. Warren watched the dark road slipping under the tires and thought about what came next. The hard part was still ahead: an assault on a fortified building.
This would not be another roadside ambush against overconfident thugs. There would be civilians inside. There would be armed security. But he also knew exactly who was riding with him—the best men available for the job.
And tonight, the music playing at that country club was not going to be the music the birthday boy had picked. Behind them, the old bus carrying Sam and the prisoners headed the other way, toward the city. Sam kept glancing in the mirror at the red taillights fading into the distance and quietly said a prayer…
