"What's the timeline?"
"Operational by late afternoon. I need you to brief your people on positioning, communication protocols, rules of engagement." I pull her close, hand fisting in her hair. "And you coordinate from a distance. You're not on site when Kline's people move."
"Cole—"
"Not negotiable." I cut her off. "You coordinate from outer perimeter, monitor your people, call in federal response if needed. But you're too valuable a target, and I can't run this operation if I'm worried about protecting you."
She wants to argue. I can see it in her eyes. But she's smart enough to recognize mission reality.
"Okay," she says finally. "I'll coordinate from the perimeter."
"Good." I kiss her, hard and possessive. "Now call your people and get them positioned. I've got to wire the Forge for the trap."
Shelby makes her coordination calls while I grab my electrical tools from the garage. By the time I'm loading the truck, she's giving me a quick kiss goodbye and heading out with the ATF to meet up with her team. Mike's relief shows up to take over perimeter duty, freeing Mike to join the operation.
Shaw meets me at the Forge an hour later, and we spend the afternoon installing timer switches on the existing electrical system. Simple work—lights programmed to go on and off in different rooms, creating the illusion of someone moving through the building.
Solder and wire insulation fill the Forge's interior with familiar scents from years of rewiring the Brotherhood's buildings. I've done this enough that the routine becomes meditative. Connect the timer, test the circuit, verify the interval. Second floor office light stays on for several minutes, then goes off. Storage area light comes on. Different office cycles through. Pattern suggests natural movement—Gemma doing inventory work upstairs.
"It's not very sophisticated," Shaw observes.
"Doesn't need to be. Kline's people watch from a distance, see lights going on and off, see the silhouette. That's enough to confirm the target before they commit." I finish wiring the last timer, test the sequence. "Once they're committed to entry, they discover the trap."
When the setup's complete I test the camera feeds from my truck—existing security system at the Forge gives decent coverage of approaches. Not military-grade surveillance, but functional for what we need.
Brothers gather in the back parking lot before moving to positions. Shaw checks his weapon, extra magazines lined up on his bike seat. Danny's doing the same with his sidearm, spare mags already loaded. Each Brother methodically checks their gear, verifies ammunition counts.
"Like Iraq," Shaw says, checking his magazine springs. "Every damn time."
Danny nods. "Kept us alive."
Weight of preparation settles over the group. Quiet now, minimal talking. Just the sounds of weapons being verified, gear being positioned, men running through mental checklists they've run a thousand times before.
And then we're positioned. Gemma remains secured at Will's place with Nash and Tate. Shaw and a couple other Brothers take positions inside the Forge, concealed but ready. Danny andMike coordinate exterior approach monitoring from concealed positions. Timed lights begin their programmed sequence on the second floor—office, then storage area, then back to office, creating patterns of movement that suggest Gemma working upstairs.
I'm in my truck monitoring camera feeds. My cell phone's ready for communication—I've got Shaw and Danny's numbers pulled up, and Shelby’s ATF frequency coordinated separately.
Light glows in the second-floor windows as planned, creating the illusion of occupancy. From my position in the truck, even knowing it's empty, the effect is convincing.
Darkness settles over Anchor Bay. Ocean wind rattles my truck, carries the salt smell of the bay. The Forge sits quiet, lights continuing their programmed dance.
Waiting begins.
Nothing moves for hours. I watch the camera feeds, check my phone for updates from Shelby's position. Her last text:
ATF units report clear approaches.
Waiting continues. Different from combat, this kind. In combat, adrenaline carries you through. In surveillance, in setup, you fight exhaustion and the thousand small doubts that creep in during the quiet.
My phone vibrates. Text from Danny:
Movement north access road. Dark SUV.
I pull up the camera feed. SUV moves slowly, cautiously. Following a reconnaissance pattern. Professional execution.
Another text from Danny:
Multiple occupants. Armed.
