Page 118
Story: The Payback (Team Zulu 2)
I nodded. “Good. Monitor the situation.”
“Copy that.”
I checked the status of the data transfer. “This is done. Files aren’t corrupt. Plenty of images and videos.” To double-check, I clicked through a few.
Sage peered over my shoulder. “Holy shit. Is that Senator Perry doing a line of blow off a woman’s bare ass?”
“Yep. And it’s his stepdaughter.” I pointed at the naked woman whose ass Senator Perry was now motorboating.
“That’s fucked up,” said Shep.
“Gross. I’ve seen enough.” Sage took a step back while I clicked through more files to confirm we had dirt on each of the key players. They were all there, including a grainy video of the chief of police murdering someone in an interrogation room twenty years ago, and Judge Hoolihan and Governor Drummond sharing a girl of questionable age. I’d known I should’ve shot that slimy asshole more than once when I had the chance. My eyeballs needed a thorough rinsing when we got back to the hotel.
At a glance, it also looked like the Mafia’s real books were in an encrypted folder. I’d crack them later, then send them to Agent Williams.
I transferred our own intelligence data to the hard drive. In the last week, I’d collected thousands of files. Bank account records, security-camera footage, text messages, emails, and voice recordings. We had dirt on every Mob supporter who’d attended tonight’s party.
I used a white marker to write a note on the black casing of the hard drive.Evidence for Special Agent Maya Williams. P.S., Don’t let any guests leave.
The bomb blast had always been part of our exit strategy, but I’d used it earlier than planned. Either way, the incident would be deemed a possible terrorist event and draw the attention of the FBI. In particular, ex–organized crime Fed, Agent Williams.
“SWAT teams and Feds have arrived,” said Shep.
Perfect timing. After disconnecting the device from my laptop, I strung it to a hook on the underside of the drone. The four propellers whirred to life, and the hard drive rose into the sky, dangling beneath the drone. It took off into the night, sounding like a swarm of bees.
Using the drone’s infrared camera, I flew it to the front gate, where dozens of first responders had assembled. The fire crew was gathering tools to cut through the steel gate. Cops had rounded up Dante’s security guards, probably blaming them for not allowing them to enter. Dozens more men in tactical gear and carrying assault rifles streamed from the rear of SWAT trucks.
With all the commotion, no one heard the drone approach.
Sage watched the video image over my shoulder. “That’s Agent Williams.” She pointed to a woman charging out of a black sedan to assemble her team. I directed the drone toward her.
The FBI agent paused, scanned her surroundings, then glanced up to where it hovered thirty feet above. She must’ve assumed it was one of their own, because she didn’t appear cautious until the drone pulled up ten feet from her. She noticed the cable and hard drive attached. Her slight flinch made me suspect she’d read the note.
Quick words were exchanged, and several agents aimed weapons at the drone. Agent Williams called for calm with a raised palm, and her colleagues stood down.
Once the hard drive was safely in Agent Williams’s hands, I activated the drone’s hook and released the cable.
We couldn’t stick around to see what she did with our information. I flew the drone high into the sky and out of sight. It was too fast for the Feds to follow. With the cover of darkness, they wouldn’t even know which direction it went.
Two minutes later, the drone returned to our position. I loaded it into the trunk of the sedan, and we left.
Shep drove down a tree-lined dirt path, lights off. Our escape route had been carefully planned. The foliage was so thick and overgrown it was like passing through a tunnel. Twigs and branches scraped along the paintwork of the town car.
I opened my laptop. Sage sat silent beside me while I focused on plotting an incident-free journey home.
“Air support?” asked Shep.
I clicked on a tab that showed aircraft flight paths. “Police helo is five minutes out.”
“And on the ground?” Shep’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
I switched to a map of greater Philly that displayed the location of police vehicles. There was a cluster of red dots at the gate to Dante’s property. More approached, but they wouldn’t see us leaving from the opposite side of the compound.
“When you hit paved road, make a left. We’ll take the scenic route home, but it’ll be clear.”
“Copy that.”
Table of Contents
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- Page 118 (Reading here)
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