"Working on it."
I move in, angle for a view through the window. Haywood's at a table, satellite phone pressed to his ear. A pistol on the table beside him. A bug-out bag in the corner, still packed.
He's planning to run the second his ride shows up.
That's not happening.
I consider options. Breach the door, go in hard and fast. But Haywood's armed, cornered. He'll fight. Probably die before he talks.
I need him alive. Need what he knows about The Marshal.
I move to the door, position myself to the side. Weapon ready.
"Sheriff's department! Come out with your hands up!"
Nothing. Then footsteps, fast. He's moving.
I breach the door, rifle up. Haywood's at the window, pistol in hand, turning toward me.
"Don't!" I track him with my sights. "Drop the weapon!"
For a second, I think he'll try it. His eyes are wild, desperate. Finger on the trigger.
Then reality hits. He's staring down a rifle barrel, and the rifle is held by someone who won't miss. He lowers the pistol, sets it on the table.
"Hands behind your head. Interlace your fingers."
He complies. I move in fast, kick the pistol away, secure him with zip ties. Pat him down, find a backup weapon in an ankle holster. Backup satellite phone in his jacket.
"You're making a mistake," Haywood says. "The Marshal will bury you. You have no idea how deep this goes."
"Then enlighten me."
"I want a deal. Full immunity, witness protection."
"You're not in a position to negotiate." I pick up the bug-out bag, dump the contents. Cash, fake IDs, encrypted flash drives. All of it is evidence.
"Those communications are insurance," Haywood says. "The Marshal knows I kept records. You arrest me, I disappear in custody before trial."
"Not if DOJ puts you in a hole deep enough."
"You're a fool." He laughs, bitter and sharp. "The Marshal has people everywhere. Federal agents, judges, politicians. You think you're hunting a corrupt FBI supervisor? You're hunting a ghost who controls the entire network."
"Give me a name."
"I don't have one. I've never met The Marshal face-to-face. All communications through encrypted channels and dead drops. I receive orders, I execute them, I get paid. That's how it works."
It's smart compartmentalization. The Marshal stays insulated while foot soldiers like Haywood take the risks.
"Where's the next dead drop?"
"There isn't one. I was supposed to be extracted today, disappear before you got close. But you moved faster thanexpected." His jaw tightens. "The Marshal won't be happy about that."
I bag the evidence, sling my rifle. Key my radio. "Sela, I've got him. Coming out."
She appears at the treeline, moves toward the cabin. Her shoulders drop when she sees Haywood in custody, tension bleeding out. Then her jaw sets when their eyes meet.
"You ordered men to kill me," she says quietly.
