In her hands was an AR-15 that she handled with the easy familiarity of someone who'd carried one through actual war. "1 hour," Creed said. "We go in, we plant the evidence, we broadcast it live, and we get out. Anyone tries to stop us, we don't engage unless absolutely necessary. This isn't about body count, it's about exposure. " "And if Brennan's people don't see it that way? " Flint asked.
"Then we adapt. " Creed checked his Colt one more time. Full magazine, one in the chamber. "But we don't start it. We're not the bad guys here. " "Could have fooled me," Pike muttered, but he was smiling. Pike always smiled before things got violent.
It was unsettling. They moved forward on foot, using the darkness and the terrain the way Rangers had been trained to do. Low crawls through brush that tore at clothes and skin, patient movement that ate minutes, but kept them invisible. The estate security was good, but it was designed to stop casual trespassers, not people with military training. The fence came up fast, 12 ft of wrought iron topped with decorative spikes that were probably also functional.
Hollis had the layout memorized. Two guard posts at the main gate, roving patrols every 15 minutes, cameras covering the obvious approaches. But there was a blind spot on the eastern wall where landscaping created shadow. They'd have 30 seconds to get over the fence before the next patrol came around. Creed went first, using a collapsible ladder that Diesel had strapped to his back.
Up and over, landing in a crouch on manicured grass that probably cost more to maintain than most people's mortgages. The others followed in silence, professionals doing professional work. Inside the grounds, the estate was even more impressive. Spanish colonial architecture, all terracotta and white stucco, with a fountain in the courtyard that featured some great god Creed didn't recognize. The kind of place that screamed money and power, the kind of place that had been built on blood.
They split up. Flint and Pike toward the main house, Wraith and Diesel to the guest quarters, where Thaddeus Brennan Sr. Kept his office. Creed and Hollis to the security center, a small building disguised as a gardener's shed, but actually containing the servers that ran the estate's digital infrastructure. The door was locked.
Hollis produced a pick set and had it open in 15 seconds. Inside, the shed was bigger than it looked, temperature controlled, humming with the sound of cooling fans and hard drive spinning. "Beautiful," Hollis whispered. She pulled out a laptop, connected it to the main server. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing commands that meant nothing to Creed, but apparently meant everything to the system she was hacking.
"How long? " he asked, keeping watch at the door. "Two minutes for access, five more to upload everything and lock them out of their own system. " Outside Creed could hear voices, the patrol. Right on schedule. He pressed himself against the wall, hand on his cult, breathing steady. The voices passed, faded, gone.
"Done. " Hollis said, "Everything's uploading to the cloud, multiple mirrors. Even if they bring this whole building down, the evidence is already out there. " "Team two, status? " Creed said into the comm. "In position. " Bo responded, "Office is clear, planting the package now. " "Team three? " "Records office secured. " Old Johnny said, "You were right about the night security, one guard half asleep. He's taking an extended break in the bathroom. " "Copy. " "Execute in three, two, one. " The world lit up, not literally, but metaphorically, as 15 different live streams suddenly went active across every social media platform that existed. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, all of them broadcasting from different locations.
All of them showing the same thing. Documents, financial records, communications between Colonel Thaddeus Brennan and weapons dealers from three decades ago. Bank transfers that traced dirty money through shell corporations, names of officers who'd been paid to look the other way. Evidence of contracts that had sent American soldiers to war with faulty equipment while someone got rich. And more recently, records showing that Thaddeus Brennan Jr.
Had continued his father's work. Mining rights obtained through bribery, environmental regulations ignored through payoffs, workers injured or killed in accidents that were swept under rugs lubricated with money. And finally, a video grainy, filmed on a phone from a distance, but clear enough. Three men beating someone to death in the desert. The time stamp showing it was from three weeks ago.
The location data embedded in the file showing it was on Brennan property. The audio was tinny, but audible. Someone shouting, "He saw the documents. He knows about the old man. " And another voice, Vic Maloney's voice, responding, "Then we make sure he doesn't tell anyone. " Creed watched it on Hollis's laptop screen. Watched the view counts climb.
100, 1,000, 10,000. The algorithm was already picking it up, feeding it to people, spreading it like wildfire. "It's done. " Hollis said quietly, "There's no stopping it now. " That's when the alarms went off. The estate's security system erupted in sound and light. Sirens wailing, floodlights blazing.
Creed heard shouting from the main house, doors slamming, the sound of people mobilizing. "All teams extract now. " Creed ordered, "Rally point Alpha. " They ran. Not panic, but fast and purposeful, using the chaos as cover. Creed and Hollis made it to the fence, scrambled over, dropped back into the desert scrub on the other side. Behind them he could hear engines starting, vehicles moving.
The Harleys were where they'd left them. Creed swung onto his, Hollis behind him, and they roared away into the night. In his mirrors, he could see lights from the estate, could see vehicles giving chase. But Harleys knew these roads. They'd ridden them for years.
And the people chasing them were security guards making hourly wages, not soldiers willing to die for a cause. They reached the rally point, an abandoned gas station five miles from the estate, and found the others already there. 15 bikes, 15 riders, all accounted for. "Team two? " Creed called out. Bull emerged from the shadows grinning.
"Clean extraction. Security showed up right as we were leaving, but we were already ghosts. " "Team three? " Old Johnny limped over, favoring his left leg, but otherwise intact. "County records office is going to need a new filing system. Might have accidentally broken a few cabinets on our way out. " Creed nodded. "Good work.
Now we His phone rang. Not the encrypted comm unit, his personal phone. The number was blocked. He answered it anyway. "Maddox. " The voice on the other end was cultured, smooth.
The voice of someone who'd never had to raise it to get what he wanted. "I have to say I'm impressed. That was quite the coordinated effort. " "Brennan. " "The same, though I prefer Thaddeus. We're going to get to know each other quite well over the next few hours, so we might as well be on a first name basis. " Creed felt ice in his veins. "You've got nothing to say that I want to hear. " "Oh, I think I do.
You see, while you were busy playing commando at my estate, some of my people were visiting your garage. Lovely place, very authentic. And we found the most interesting guest hiding there. " "No. " "A woman named Harper Morrison and her son, Declan. 12 years old, quite brave from what I understand. He put up quite a fight when my men came in. " Creed's hand tightened on the phone so hard he thought it might shatter.
"If you hurt them, you'll what? Release more documents? Too late, they're already out there. And yes, it's going to be inconvenient. My lawyers are already spinning it, claiming everything is fabricated, that you're a disgruntled veteran with a grudge.
Some of it will stick, but not all of it. " Thaddeus paused. "Which is why we need to discuss terms. " "There are no terms. " "I disagree. Here are mine. You come to me, alone. You bring that old woman who's been making my life difficult, and you turn over any additional evidence you might have.
In exchange, I let the woman and her son go. Unharmed. " "You're going to let them go out of the goodness of your heart? " "No, I'm going to let them go because they're worthless to me. The boy's testimony is inadmissible without the video, which you've already released. The mother knows nothing. They're just leverage.
But you and the old woman, you're loose ends that need tying up. " Hollis was listening, her face carved from stone. She shook her head. "Don't do it. " "Where? " Creed asked. "The old copper processing plant, where you found the boy. Fitting, don't you think?