Kevlar. Won't stop a rifle round, but it'll keep pistol fire from punching holes in your lungs. Now, put it on and get away from that window. Caleb fumbled with the straps, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline. Below he could hear Clutch barking orders, assigning positions, coordinating with someone on the phone.
State police are 20 minutes out. Clutch's voice carried up the stairs. DEA's 30. We hold until they get here. And if the cartel hits us before that?
Someone called back. Then we make them regret every mile they drove.
Tiny appeared at Caleb's door next carrying a radio. Channel three. You hear anything weird, anything at all, you call it in. Someone shoots at this building, you hit the deck and stay there. Don't be a hero.
Wasn't planning on it. Good, because Arthur already used up this month's quota of heroics. Tiny's attempt at humor fell flat. His eyes were too serious, too focused. You got enough ammo for that 9 mm?
Caleb pulled out the gun and checked. One magazine and one spare. Tiny checked that Caleb had what he needed and told him to stay defensive if it came to that. Tiny gripped his shoulder, but it won't come to that. We got this.
The minutes crawled by like hours. Caleb sat on his bed vest on gun in hand listening to the radio chatter. Perimeter check northwest. Clear. Southeast.
Clear. Wait, got headlights 2 miles out on County Road 12. Clutch's voice cut through the chatter. Everyone hold position. Don't engage until they make a move.
Caleb's heart hammered against his ribs. He moved to the corner of the room farthest from the window and crouched there trying to remember everything Wrath had taught him. Breathe, aim center mass, squeeze don't pull. His phone buzzed. Agent Reeves state police delayed.
Accident on I-10. ETA now 35 minutes. Damn, Caleb muttered typing back cartel's almost here. I know. Hold tight.
Backup is coming. 35 minutes. The cartel would be here in five.
Contact. The radio crackled. Eight vehicles black SUVs turning onto our access road. Everyone weapons hot, Clutch ordered, but nobody fires unless fired upon. Let's see what they want.
What did they want? Caleb almost laughed. They wanted him dead. They wanted Arthur dead. They wanted to erase every witness and every piece of evidence that could connect them to Dalton's operation.
The sound of engines grew louder, closer. Caleb risked a glance out the window and immediately wished he hadn't. The SUVs were massive, tinted windows dark as oil. They stopped just outside the compound's gate arranged in a semicircle like they were preparing for a siege.