“Roger. Apprehend.” Troy lifted the mouthpiece of the headset. “Look at the pic. It’s Crockett’s work. He secured the bandage with that braided tail he does.”
“How do you know that?” TJ asked.
“He was in the middle of his medic class, and this asshole sergeant tells him his ends were sloppy. They’d snag, ripping open the wounds. He came back to the barracks in a tantrum,” Kip said.
“I told him, give him what he wants, Wes-style.” Ian’s eyes twinkled. “He tied them like mini-whips.”
“Alright, no time to reminisce; there are thirty of us. We are going to pull the purse strings with a distraction force. Our group will hit the house at the same time,” Troy said and began typing orders.
Kip’s phone rang. “Hell yeah. Great job, Chris.” Kip broke out into a wide smile. “We’ve got the sarin. No leakage. The CDC and the Army Biohazard folks found it and removed it. It was where Ellie told us it was. Chris said, when they pulled up the box, there was an oxidized bloody handprint on the lid and latch. Print match to Ellie. The only casualty is the east portion of the kennel foundation.”
Kieran passed out tubes of grease paint. “Okay, wingnuts, let’s finish this.”
