Wrench pointed to another location. “What about this warehouse district? Ghost and I did some reconnaissance yesterday. Lots of activity, but it’s isolated. We could hit it without worrying about civilian casualties.”
Jake felt a familiar satisfaction as his team began thinking tactically. These men might not have formal military training, but they understood conflict and they trusted his leadership. More importantly, they’d accepted that saving Emma’s mother was worth the risk.
“Here’s how we do it,” Jake said, pulling out a black marker. “Three teams, three targets, simultaneous strikes at 2 a.m., when they’re least likely to expect trouble.” He began drawing on the map, marking approach routes and escape paths. Team one would hit the auto shop. Team two would take the warehouse. Team three would conduct surveillance on the main safe house.
“Rules of engagement,” Jake continued. “We’re not there to start a massacre. We gather intelligence, send a message, and get out clean. Anyone who surrenders gets zip-tied and left for the cops. Anyone who makes a move on us gets handled. Permanently.”
The room was quiet as the plan took shape. These men had followed Jake into dozens of conflicts, but this felt different. More serious. More dangerous. “Questions?” Jake asked.
Ghost raised his hand slightly. “What about Emma? If this goes sideways, they might retaliate against the clubhouse.”
Jake had already considered this. “Angel takes her to Doc’s clinic during the operation. If we’re not back by dawn, she drives Emma to the FBI field office and tells them everything.” It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was actionable.
The auto repair shop sat dark and silent at 1:47 a.m., its chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Jake crouched behind an abandoned car across the street, watching the building through night-vision binoculars that Ghost had acquired through channels no one discussed.
“Two guards,” he whispered into his radio headset. “One at the front office, one doing walking patrols.”
Hammer’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Warehouse team in position. I count three vehicles, unknown number of personnel inside.”
“Surveillance team ready,” reported Snake Williams from his position overlooking the main safehouse. “Quiet so far, but there’s definitely movement behind the windows.”
Jake checked his watch. Thirteen minutes until coordinated strike time. He’d positioned himself with Team One, Bulldog McKenzie and Jimmy Wrench, because the auto shop represented their best chance of finding actionable intelligence.
“Remember,” Jake transmitted to all teams, “we’re not here to be heroes. Get in, get what we need, get out alive.”
At exactly 2 a.m., Jake gave the signal. Team One moved like shadows. Bulldog cut through the fence with bolt cutters, while Wrench disabled the building’s alarm system. Jake approached the walking guard from behind, applying a sleeper hold that dropped the man unconscious in seconds. The front office guard was more alert, reaching for his weapon as the bikers burst through the door, but Jake had the man zip-tied and gagged before he could raise an alarm.
“Clear,” Jake whispered into his radio.
“Warehouse secure,” came Hammer’s reply. “Two prisoners, no casualties on our side.”
The auto shop’s back office was a treasure trove of the organization’s business records. Ledgers showing transactions, payroll information for compromised officials, and most importantly, a list of safe houses with detailed security information. Jake photographed everything with a digital camera. That’s when he found the encrypted cell phone.
The device was sophisticated, military-grade, but it was currently receiving text messages in Spanish. Jake’s limited language skills were enough to recognize key words: “Martinez,” “niña,” and “eliminar.”
“Ghost, you copy?” Jake transmitted.
“Here, boss.”
“I need you at the auto shop. Found something that requires your language skills.”
Ghost arrived within minutes. He examined the phone, scrolling through recent messages with increasing concern. “They know about the clubhouse,” Ghost said quietly. “They’re planning to hit us at dawn.”
Jake felt cold satisfaction. By striking first, they’d learned about the planned retaliation. “What else?”
“There’s an address here. Warehouse on the east side, different from the one Hammer hit. Messages indicate they’re holding ‘the package’ there. Maria Martinez. Has to be. And Jake… they’re not planning to keep her alive much longer. There’s a message about ‘cleanup,’ scheduled for tomorrow night.”
Jake photographed the phone’s contents. Then he carefully placed the device back where they’d found it, ensuring the Serpientes wouldn’t immediately realize their communications had been compromised.
“All teams, extract now,” Jake ordered. “We’ve got what we came for.”
They regrouped at a 24-hour diner 10 miles from the clubhouse. Over coffee and pie, Jake shared what they’d learned. The Serpientes were more organized and better funded than anyone had suspected. But they also had Maria Martinez, and they planned to end her life within 24 hours.
“So what’s the play?” Hammer asked, stirring sugar into coffee with hands that still shook slightly from adrenaline.
Jake studied the photographs of the warehouse address, already formulating plans that would require everything he’d learned about small unit tactics. “We go get her,” Jake said simply. “Tonight, before they realize we’ve compromised their communications.”
Ghost looked up from his own coffee. “That warehouse will be heavily defended. This won’t be a quick in-and-out.”
“No,” Jake agreed. “This will be a serious fight.”
Emma’s screams pierced the pre-dawn darkness of Doc’s clinic, jolting Angel awake from the uncomfortable chair where she’d been dozing. The little girl thrashed on the examination table, trapped in a nightmare.
“Mama! Don’t let them hurt Mama!” Emma cried out, her small fists striking at invisible attackers.
Angel moved quickly, gathering Emma in her arms. “You’re safe, baby. It’s just a dream. You’re safe.” But as Emma gradually awakened, Angel noticed something that made her blood run cold: a small hospital bracelet around Emma’s wrist, partially hidden beneath her sleeve. The plastic was yellowed with age.
“Emma, honey,” Angel said gently, “can you tell me about this bracelet?”
Emma looked down at her wrist, her face crumpling with fresh tears. “The doctor said I had to wear it so they would know how to fix me when the bad men hurt me again.”
Angel’s hands trembled as she examined the bracelet. The date stamp showed it was three weeks old, from the Children’s Emergency Department at County General. The medical coding indicated treatment for multiple contusions, consistent with physical harm. This wasn’t the first time. The bruises Jake and Doc had documented were just the most recent in a pattern of systematic cruelty.
“Who brought you to the hospital, sweetheart?” Angel asked.
“Mama did. She was crying and saying she was sorry… But the doctor said if the bad men hurt me again, I might not get better.”
Angel felt rage building in her chest. Emma hadn’t just witnessed her mother’s kidnapping. She’d been living in terror. “The bad men said if Mama told anybody about what she saw, they would hurt me worse,” Emma continued. “They said they knew where I went to school… and that we could never hide.”
The implications hit Angel hard. The Serpientes had been terrorizing Maria and her daughter for weeks, using Emma as leverage to ensure her mother’s silence.
Angel’s phone buzzed with a text from Jake: “Operation successful. Found intel. Coming to clinic.”
She quickly typed back: “Emma having episodes. Found hospital bracelet. This is worse than we thought.”
When Jake arrived twenty minutes later, he found Angel holding Emma while the little girl colored in a medical chart. But the drawing wasn’t typical. It showed stick figures in recognizable poses of intimidation.
“She’s been documenting,” Angel explained quietly, showing Jake several drawings. “Look at the faces, the tattoos, even the cars. She’s been watching and remembering everything.”
Jake studied the drawings with growing amazement and horror. Emma had captured details that professional witnesses often missed: distinctive jewelry, facial scars, even license plate numbers.
“Emma,” Jake said gently, “these pictures you draw… Do you remember anything else about the bad men? Maybe something they said about where they took your mama?”
Emma looked up. “They said they were taking her to ‘the place where problems get solved.’ And the man with the gold teeth… he said she had until Sunday to decide if she wanted to be smart or if she wanted to join the policeman.”
Angel and Jake exchanged glances. Today was Saturday. Maria Martinez had less than 24 hours.
“Did they say anything else?” Jake asked…
