Chapter 2 - Jurisdiction

“Colonel,” I said, holding my fever-hot daughter. “It’s me. I have a Code Black situation at my daughter’s residence, and the first thing you need to know is I am heavily outnumbered by local law enforcement, and I am not leaving without my kid.”

On the other end of the line, the silence lasted exactly one second. It was the kind of silence that precedes a very large storm.

“Marcus,” the gruff voice of Colonel Thomas Vance echoed through the earpiece. “Location?”

“The Sterling Estate. Oak Creek.”

“Local PD is on the Sterling payroll. Do not engage them. I have a rapid response unit three minutes out. Hold your perimeter. Vance out.”

I snapped the phone shut and slid it into my pocket.

Eleanor was already recovering her false bravado. She had sidestepped toward the bedroom door, her manicured hands trembling as she pulled out her own gleaming smartphone. “You’re insane,” she hissed, her eyes darting between me and the hallway. “I’m calling Chief Miller. You’ll be in a concrete cell before midnight, and Sarah will be remanded to a psychiatric facility. She’s clearly unstable.”

“Call him,” I said, my voice dead flat.

I didn’t look at her anymore. She was a tactical non-issue. My entire focus was on Sarah. I wrapped a thick wool blanket from the foot of the bed around her shivering shoulders, pulling her against my chest. Her skin was a terrifying shade of pale, dotted with cold sweat. I checked her pulse—thready, racing. They hadn’t just been abusing her; they had been drugging her.

Downstairs, the front door burst open. Heavy boots pounded on the hardwood.

“Police! Drop your weapons and step out with your hands up!” a voice roared from the foyer.

Jason, who had been whimpering against the doorframe, suddenly found his courage. “Up here!” he screamed, blood and spit flying from his mouth. “He assaulted me! He’s trying to kidnap my wife!”

Three local cops breached the bedroom, guns drawn, flashlights cutting through the dim room. They didn't look at Sarah, lying limp in my arms. They didn't look at the shears on the floor or the chopped hair. They only looked at Eleanor, who pointed a shaking, theatrical finger at me.

“Arrest him,” Eleanor ordered, no longer a victim, but a queen directing her guards.

The lead officer, a heavy-set man with sweat on his brow, leveled his Glock at my chest. “Put the girl down, old man. On your knees. Hands behind your head.”

I held Sarah tighter. “My daughter needs a paramedic. She’s exhibiting signs of chemical poisoning.”

“I said put her down!” The officer stepped forward, his finger tightening on the trigger.

The low, rhythmic thumping started before they could take another step. It wasn't a siren. It was the heavy, air-displacing chop of a Black Hawk helicopter descending rapidly over the estate. The bedroom windows rattled violently. The expensive crystal lamps vibrated off the nightstands and shattered on the floor.

The local cops froze, exchanging bewildered looks. The front yard suddenly erupted in blinding white tactical spotlights.

A megaphone boomed from outside, rattling the very foundations of the mansion. "Oak Creek Police Department, this is the Federal Bureau of Investigation in conjunction with JSOC. Lower your weapons and step away from the civilian. You are interfering in an active federal extraction."

Eleanor’s face went completely slack. The phone slipped from her hand and bounced on the carpet.

Downstairs, doors were kicked open. The heavy, syncopated tread of tactical boots swarmed the house. Within seconds, the bedroom doorway was filled with men in full black tactical gear, assault rifles raised, laser sights painting the chests of the three local cops.

A tall man in a dark suit pushed through the tactical team. He looked at the local police, then at Jason, and finally at Eleanor.

“Marcus,” the man said, nodding to me.

“Agent Harris,” I replied.

Harris turned to the local cops. “Your chief was just indicted ten minutes ago for racketeering. I suggest you holster your weapons unless you want to join him in federal lockup.”

The cops slowly lowered their guns, backing against the wall.

I stood up, carrying Sarah in my arms. She buried her face in my flannel shirt, crying softly. I walked past Jason, who was pressed against the wall, his eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated terror.

I stopped in front of Eleanor. She looked small now. Just a frail, cruel woman wrapped in expensive silk.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We are the Sterlings.”

“And I am Marcus Vance,” I said softly. “I told you. You had no idea who you were dealing with.”