Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

but there were only GPS coordinates for the ranch, so those are at the bottom.”

He grabbed his badge and the paper, thanking her then heading back out to the parking lot. Despite the muggy air, he felt a cool chill run down his back.

The pieces are beginning to fall into place.

34

After driving back to the Colombian safehouse where he’d first spotted Montoya, Cal parked his stolen car then walked three blocks through a rundown neighborhood that made him grateful that he was packing a pistol.

Cal paused in the shade of a maple tree, quickly scanning the street in either direction then studying the windows and rooftop of the run-down house ahead. On the front porch were two men sitting on a brown couch, whose foam padding was hanging out the sides.

If he was with his team, they would have made this a surgical strike by posting a sniper on one of the rooftops to eliminate the outside sentries in front while he and the other operators came in through the rear with flash-bangs. Once inside, it would be a shooting gallery as they swept through each level and room, taking down any resistance, whose numbers would have been provided by Vogel via thermal imagery from a drone.

Except he was alone with only an HK pistol and thirty rounds between the mag in the weapon and the spare on his belt.

There was no turning back now.

Shepard crossed the street, loosening the single button on his suit so he could quickly access his pistol when the time came. At the intersection, he headed along the sidewalk then moved towards the front steps leading to the porch. He moved with confidence, as if he had a full tac-team in the wings to sell his coming bluff.

The two men immediately sprang up, resting their hands near the bulges protruding under their soiled t-shirts.

“You lost or something, hombre?” said the round-faced figure to the right in a Spanish accent.

He slowly moved his jacket, exposing the FBI badge on his belt. “Special Agent James Tremblay. I’m here to talk to your boss.”

“What boss? We’re just a bunch of friends who live here. Think you got the wrong place,” said the shorter man to the right, who had green studs in his ears.

Shepard thrust his thumb at the street behind him. “You’re going to want to take me to your boss. If I have to call in my other agents and march your jefe and everyone else’s asses out here in cuffs, you two are going to get busted back to robbing liquor stores again. All you have to do is take me inside so I can ask a few questions.”

The two men looked at each other then out at the other cars parked behind Shepard in the distance.

He removed his cellphone, hovering his thumb over the send button. The bigger man grimaced then stepped aside, waving Shepard up to the porch. The heavily tattooed bruiser headed through the open door towards the back stairwell.

Shepard reconned each room as he passed by, noting the number of people inside and any weapons, of which there were plenty.

Four men total in the kitchen and dining room. He followed the burly figure up to the second floor, avoiding the rat droppings and crushed cigarettes along the sides. Heading down the hallway, he spotted three more men spread around the other bedrooms.

At the end of the hall was the master bedroom, which had been turned into a makeshift communal area with a rectangular table around which five men were playing cards.

The man with the prosthetic was sitting on the right, sipping a beer. Shepard wanted to empty his pistol into his chest, but he had to be methodical about his assault given the numbers in the house.

Slow and steady wins the race.

He made sure to stay just off to the left side of his shoulder so the man wasn’t making direct eye contact. He didn’t know if the guy would recall his face from the driveway at Burke’s, but so far he was in the clear, as the thug only spared him a casual glance before returning to his cards.

The burly figure from the porch leaned over to an older man at the end of the table, whispering in his ear.

“What the hell is this?” said the older man, who spat out his tobacco on the floor beside him. “You come to shake us down? We already paid up with the local cops for this month.”

Cal pulled his shoulders back, letting his rehearsed monologue flow out. “My gang taskforce and I have taken over this region of the city and are investigating a rash of killings connected with the Serbians, who we know run the southside. You give me information on their network and I can take the heat off this area for a few weeks.”

“Fuck you and your bureau. We got no issues with the Serbs. They respect our territory.” The man’s obstinance made the others lean back and lower their cards, staring at Shepard.

He noted the pistols at each person’s waist then scanned their faces. These were some hardened men, but two stood out as being the most feral; he would have to drop them first.

Shepard moved closer to the goon with the prosthetic while keeping his eyes on the leader. “Maybe you don’t read much, but the news has been all over the massive influx of Serbian immigrants into Baltimore. You really think they’re going to respect your territory once there are more mouths to feed? They’re already expanding into the surrounding cities and increasing their cash flow from their enterprises.” He looked down at the open duffle bag of money on the floor beside the older man.

“Let me guess—I give you some information on the Serbs and a big wad of bills then you leave us alone…is that it, big man?” The older man chuckled, his missing teeth causing spittle to fly onto the table. The others joined in, their laughter exuding nervousness. “Or maybe you