I’ll do my best.
Across the road, there was a flurry of activity as men and women began to stand and check their equipment.
“Guess the search warrant came through,” said Beto. “Things sure move faster when the almighty Feds get involved. Looks like they’re about to go Full Metal Jagoff.”
When he heard the groaning engine of the APC coming up the road, Jordan poured the rest of his coffee into the dirt and went looking for Wen.
When he found her, she was huddled with a half-dozen Feds he didn’t recognize. He was pretty sure a couple of them were officers from CDCR’s Fugitive Apprehension Team. One man’sjacket said BATF on the back. What next, Homeland Security? It was madness.
Jordan touched Wen’s elbow, pulling her away from the group. “Let’s talk him out. We don’t know what he has up there. The guy’s a vet. He could have land mines and mortars, for crying out loud.”
“You’re right, Sheriff. We don’t know. That’s why we have armor, men, and superior weaponry.”
“So it’s one guy against an army. Ever heard of Ruby Ridge?”
“I’ve seen the PowerPoint.”
“We don’t even know if she’s in there. Maybe she just used his shears and kept running.”
Doubt flickered across her face, quickly replaced by certainty. “He caught you on his property. How would he miss her?”
“I’m just saying we don’t know. Let me go up there again, alone, to try talking to him.”
“I’m not letting this hick disappear into the woods.”
A man with a pockmarked face and a gray stubbled head glared at Jordan. “Need you, Wen.”
“We go in ten,” Wen told Jordan. “Your men follow our lead.”
“I’m going to tell them to hang back, take it slow, and not do anything stupid,” he retorted. “I don’t want anyone getting shot by a gung-ho clerk from the BLM.”
“Black Lives Matter?” she asked, clearly confused.
“Bureau of Land Management.”
Jordan recrossed the road with a sinking feeling.
“Will sanity prevail?” asked Beto.
“We’ll find out. They’re going in ten minutes, and I want our guys in the rear. First, I’m taking a leak.”
Stepping into the trees, Jordan took a wide loop around the compound, aiming to drop in from the thickly forested hillside. He moved from tree to tree, watching for trip wires, pausingperiodically to make sure he didn’t surprise one of Wen’s nervous men. Eerily, the helicopter’s searchlight when it passed made the smoke almost white and the shadows blacker than black.
Five agonizing minutes later, he was at the edge of the trees, a stone’s throw from Fisk’s barn.
“Fisk!” he hissed, not willing to risk full volume. “Fisk!”
No reply. He had to move fast.
Zigzagging to the safety of the barn, he turned his headlamp on red and scanned from side to side. It was empty.
As he army-crawled past the chicken coop to the trailers, he heard excited voices over revving engines. Then the chopper dropped lower, lighting the compound brighter than day. Jordan had never been to war, but imagined soldiers’ hearts must pound like his was now. That their pupils would dilate and their throats would dry out, too. Everything felt hyperrealistic—or maybe it was surreal. He wasn’t sure he knew the difference.
What the hell was he doing?
The front porch was in full view of the approaching troops. Jordan ran to a side door and banged on it with the flat of his hand.
“Fisk!” he yelled. “Fisk, goddammit! Let’s keep everyone alive here!”
