Chapter 6: The Resentment in the Safe House
The tactical van arrived at the suburban safe house, an unassuming brick two-story building that screamed generic upper-middle-class boredom.
It was perfect for hiding. Unless, of course, the enemy already knew where to look.
Marcus exited the van, his eyes already assessing the perimeter. He’d swapped his faded t-shirt for a black tactical shirt, though he was still armed with his knowledge and instincts rather than military hardware.
Miller, a bulky man with short blonde hair and an attitude, was waiting by the front door.
“You Webb?” Miller demanded, not extending his hand.
“Ground situation,” Marcus said, ignoring the disrespect.
“Situation is tense. The asset, Elena, has thrown plates. She’s currently locked herself and the child in the second-floor master suite. She says she only trusts the police.”
Marcus felt a flare of sympathy. Elena was a federal prosecutor, strong, brave, and intelligent. But when your daughter is a target, logic is the first victim.
“Where’s your perimeter breach system?” Marcus asked, stepping past him into the living room.
“Standard motion sensors on the doors and windows. Thermal cameras on the tree line,” Miller said with a smug smile. “State of the art.“
“Miller, a thermal camera is a camera. It sees heat. It doesn’t stop bullets. If a van pulls into the driveway with six shooters, how do we get the assets out?“
“There’s a back exit through the kitchen.”
Marcus stopped. He slowly turned to face the bigger man.
“There are ten people in your team, Miller. If the threat shows up with ten more, you’re not getting anyone out the back. This is a fortress, not a hideout.“
Marcus walked to the window, peering through the blinds.
“Jennifer!” Marcus called out.
Jennifer hurried in from the kitchen. “The DA is threatening to pull the contract if we restrain Elena.“
“The DA can kiss my Force Recon ass,” Marcus snapped, stunning her. “We are compromised, Jennifer. They are already here.“
“What? My team hasn’t picked up a thing!” Miller argued, his face turning red.
Marcus pointed out the window. “There’s a white panel van parked two streets over. It’s been there for ten minutes. No markings. Dark windows. This is a neighborhood of station wagons and SUVs.“
Miller scoffed. “Probably a contractor finishing a late job.“
“Miller, this is what the cartel does. They use forward scouts to establish timing. Tell me, do your motion sensors distinguish between a 150-pound man and a 150-pound dog?”
“It… it has filters, yeah.“
“You’re not ready for this,” Marcus concluded. “Everyone back inside. We are transitioning to a defensive kill zone.“
He walked straight toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Miller demanded.
“To talk to the scared mom,” Marcus said. “I’m the only one here who understands why she’s throwing plates.“
