+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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"Let's do this, Fred."
He waved at three Tac agents, who got in the vehicle before the electric gate. It was an open wrangler with a rock-crawler front bumper and a solid cage, carrying two searchlights welded to it. One of the Tacs sat behind the wheel and started the engine. The other two climbed on the back and stood there, to set their FN rifles on top of the cage.
Gillian turned to the Tac leaders and nodded. The FBI Tacs saw their leader's sign and took positions behind the other vehicles, all their rifles pointing at the compound yard.
The trooper leader said a word on his radio. Fifty yards down the road, one of his men waited on top of an energy pole. At his command, the man cut the thick wire powering the compound. All the lights inside of it went off, while the man worked at full speed to connect the pole line with the one feeding the large searchlights along the fence.
"Two minutes," the trooper leader said to Gillian.
The FBI Tac leader handed her a speaker.
She took it to her face and breathed deep. Her words echoed in the cold, dark night.
"RYAN LONGFIELD! THIS IS SPECIAL AGENT GILLIAN WITH THE FBI! YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO COME OUT TO MEET ME!" She gave back the speaker and climbed into the jeep with Fred.
"I think you forgot the 'unarmed' bit," he said, securing his feet to stand between the Tac snipers.
"And screw all the fun?" Gillian replied from the passenger seat.
Fred sighed his disagreement. Especially when she drew not one, but two Glocks.
"No kills," she said, though, talking to the Tac snipers flanking Fred. "Take down whoever comes out with him, but aim low. I want them all alive. And Balken is mine."
"Reg..."
She ignored Fred's warning and tightened the grip of her gloved hands on the guns' butts. Then she nodded at the Tac behind the wheel.
The man reversed up to the tent. "Hang on," he said. Then he geared in and stepped on the gas, launching the jeep against the gate. The bumper bulged into the steel frame and tore it out of its guideway. The jeep swayed as it drove over the fallen, twisted gate to stop halfway to the cottage.
The front door opened at the same time the large searchlights got powered, flooding with a bright white light the whole yard up to the trees behind the buildings. Three men came out of the cottage. They wore green fatigues and carried shotguns, ready to raise them and shoot. They approached the jeep cautiously, eyes narrowed in the blinding light.
"T?" Gillian whispered on the radio.
"Balken is the one in the middle. I don't have any record on the other two."
"Foot soldiers," said Aldana.
"Expendable," said Gillian. "He's ready for violence."
She studied the man as he came closer. Confident, not a sign of concern or fear. He looked almost relaxed, and she didn't like it. At all. Was it because he'd finally found a way to have his little war? He surely hated the very idea of an African American sitting in the White House. Was that why he'd taken Brock and Russell—to confront the government? Or he was so cool because he thought they were his ticket out of the mess he'd caused? That might mean they were still alive...
