THE REAPER’S LEDGER

The rain began to fall just as the old industrial warehouse at the edge of the abandoned rail yard came into view. It was a massive, corrugated iron structure where the syndicate used to process smuggled cargo before shipping it across the state line. Tonight, however, the windows on the upper level glowed with pale fluorescent light, and two black luxury sedans were parked outside the rusted loading dock.

"That's where the regional director operates out of," Mac whispered, crouching behind a stack of rusted shipping containers alongside Maya, Vance, and Reno. Brick had been left behind in the Jeep with enough painkillers and gauze to keep him stable until morning.

"There's at least a dozen guards inside," Vance said, peering through the binoculars. "Heavy tactical gear, automatic weapons. This isn't a biker brawl, Mac. It's a fortress."

"Good thing we aren't here to brawl," Maya said, unzipping a duffel bag she had pulled from the back of the truck and revealing an array of encrypted communication gear and laptop hardware. "While you guys create a distraction at the main loading doors, I’m going to patch into their local network and upload the entire ledger—every financial transaction, every shell corporation, every bribe record—directly to every federal law enforcement server and major news outlet in the country."

"Once that data goes public," Mac said, looking at her with a mix of pride and dread, "there won't be a hole deep enough on this planet for those bastards to hide in."

"And neither will there be for us," Vance added grimly.

"I'm not asking for amnesty, Vance," Mac said, standing up and pulling the slide of his Colt Python back with a sharp, metallic snap. "I'm just asking for a clean slate."

The rain hammered down harder against the corrugated iron roof as Mac and Vance strode out from the shadows of the containers, moving directly toward the brightly lit loading dock with their weapons drawn.

"Federal property! Halt right—"