The FBI was taking point on the raid, but six other groups were represented in the room, and PAR wasn’t in the business of knocking down doors.
“I think you know everything we know now,” Frank said to Poulton. “Would you like us to clear out?”
“Not a chance,” Poulton said. Instead, he brought us from team to team, telling me I should analyze everything I heard and offer advice. “Don’t hold anything back, Camden,” he said. “That’s an order.”
We moved to a group of six men and two women from CIRG, who were huddled over a blueprint of the space across the street.
“This is Gardner Camden,” Poulton said. “He runs the group who found this intel.”
The lead CIRG agent walked us through their plans. When he was done, Poulton turned to me. “Thoughts?”
“We found .22-caliber blanks on a shipping manifest twelve days ago,” I said. “So I anticipate there’s a ninety-six percent chance you’ll encounter trip wires.”
“Copy on trip wires,” a big guy with a beard said.
He seemed to move on too quickly, and Poulton’s eyes met mine.
“The blanks were bought from dog breeders and are normally used to introduce hunting dogs to gunfire,” I said. “But there are no dogs kept by this crew.”
“Not sure we’re reading you,” a tattooed woman in tactical gear said.
My memory was moving fast, flipping from document to document. Assimilating more information. “The gang also bought floral wire in quantity,” I said. “A black color that florists don’t prefer.”
“Gardner,” Cassie said, and I glanced up.
I had it now.
“The floral wire is used in concert with the .22-caliber blanks and a firing capsule,” I said. “You wrap one end of the wire around something. Out in the wild, it could be a tree trunk. But the black color is better for indoors. For evening, like now. You attach an unloaded .22-caliber capsule to some unseen area. Then run theother end of the wire to the capsule. Stretch your floral wire and pull it taut.”
“When someone trips the wire,” the tattooed woman said, “the blanks fire.”
The bearded guy shrugged. “But they’re just blanks.”
“Causing you to return fire,” Cassie jumped in. “You shoot until you’ve unloaded your magazine, like your training dictates.”
“But all you’ve reacted to are blanks,” Frank said. “Your enemy comes out of the shadows and shoots you while you reload.”
The men and women looked at each other, nodding, then back at us. “Are you CIA?” one asked.
“No,” I said. “We’re PAR.”
They nodded, but from their facial expressions, it was clear they had no idea who or what PAR was.
Poulton leaned in. “These three won’t be with you on the raid,” he said. “But they’re helping stack the odds in your favor. Got it?”
The soldiers nodded, and one of them fist-bumped me.
“You think these fellas have an escape plan?” the bearded guy asked. “A tunnel or something?”
“I have no information on that,” I said. “But if you corner them, they will choose to die rather than give up. Your goal should be to minimize your own casualties, but take as many of them alive as you can. Most militia members live normal lives. Hold regular jobs. They have families we can use as leverage. But only if the men survive.”
“Thirty-three minutes,” I heard Kemp call out.
The big group came together again, and Poulton and Kemp reviewed the details of the raid. Colt M4 carbines and H&K MP5s hung from the necks of the soldiers in tactical gear, and Glock 23s were shoved into holsters on their belts for close shots.
“CIRG is taking point on the raid,” Poulton explained. “As gunsand ammunition are being collected, that falls under the purview of ATF. Anyone taken alive goes to CTD and Homeland.”
Two men in suits came through the double doors, and Poulton and Kemp stepped out of the room, meeting with them separately.
