In front of them, where the white SUV had been, the dented blue cargo van with the flattened front tire was now parked, backed in. Burke pulled his small, tactical flashlight out and held it up alongside his weapon, leaving it off for now. He dropped to his belly and trained his eyes beneath the van, looking for feet and legs on the far side. He saw nothing but shadows and darkness.
Burke didn’t want to give their presence and position away by turning on the light, yet. He came to his feet and signaled Tessman. Burke counted down on the fingers of his left hand: three, two, one. Then he threw the door open and thrust himself out into the space towards the rear of the warehouse, his Glock leading the way. At the same time, Tessman did the same, his aim in the other direction.
“Clear,” both men whispered into comms.
“Got eyes on you,” Jackson’s soft voice came through comms. Tessman could see him as well, as Jackson hugged the wall, moving deeper into the warehouse.
“Far side of the van, clear,” Wilson’s voice whispered.
“Front of warehouse, clear,” Rogers said just as softly.
The warehouse was silent. Not even their footfalls were heard on the concrete floor. Deep shadows filled every corner. Burke wished he had NVGs on. A Tango could be in any corner, and they wouldn’t see him until they were upon him.
Tessman tapped Burke on the shoulder so he’d know he was there. The two men advanced towards the space that was the treatment room. Its high windows let some light in, which spilled out onto the warehouse floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Burke saw Wilson and Jackson step out from behind the cover of the van on its far side.
When reaching the curtained entrance to the treatment room, the two men pressed their backs against the wall just before the curtain began. With a nod to each other, they moved fast, propelling themselves into the room with speed, both of them illuminating their flashlights and sweeping the beams through the entire room.
No one was in the room.
“Clear,” Burke said softly.
They both clicked off their lights and turned to view the open space between the van and the hallway that led to the storerooms. Their eyes took a second to re-adjust to the darkness. They saw their three partners cross the space. Burke and Tessman returned to the van, taking up positions along each side’s rear quarter panel to keep watch of their six.
While they stood guard there, the van wobbled, just slightly. Someone was inside. Burke immediately withdrew to the very back of the van, as did Tessman. He’d felt it too.
“Got company inside the van,” Burke transmitted in a barely audible voice. He dropped to one knee as he pivoted so he could see the driver’s door, which remained closed. It was too dark to see anything or anyone in the side mirror. “Taco, can you spare Powder?” He knew they had to confront whoever it was quickly. Assuming it was a Tango with a phone, their presence in the warehouse had probably already been broadcast to the rest of his group. They could have a lot more Tangos than they wanted to deal with, descending on them faster than they wanted.
“Roger,” Wilson’s hushed voice replied.
Within seconds, Rogers stood near the rear door of the van. “How do you want to play this?” he asked in a whisper.
Burke and Tessman both grinned. “Directly,” Burke said quietly. “Powder, you cover the driver’s door. Moe, what do you say we give this fucker no place to hide? We open these back doors and the side sliding door at the same time and flood the interior with light. Let’s see who’s inside.”
“I like it,” Tessman said.
“Aim to wound. We need to be able to question this fucker,” Burke reminded everyone.
Rogers slid around the side of the van. He took up a position halfway down the length of the van, dropping to one knee, his aim on the driver’s door. “In position.”
Burke slipped around the other side and kept his back pressed to the side of the van just before the sliding side door. His eyes were fixed in the mirror. He saw nothing. “In position.”
“Go on my mark,” Tessman said. “Three, two,” he said as he turned on his penlight. The weapon and the light were pointed at the floor. “One! Go!”
Burke had also turned on his flashlight and aimed it at the floor on the count of two. On one, his left hand took hold of the side door handle. On go, he heaved and slid the door open as he raised his weapon and light, illuminating the interior. “Freeze! Federal law enforcement!”
“Federal authorities!” Tessman’s voice overlapped his as the light from his powerful penlight joined Burke’s, brightly lighting the interior of the panel van and the lone man who sat crouched behind a small crate that didn’t completely cover him, an AR-13 in his grasp. “Put it down!”
“Drop the weapon!” Burke echoed.
The man looked startled, blinded, and undecided. He hadn’t raised the rifle into a firing position, but he didn’t drop it either.
“Come on, man, drop it. You don’t have to die here today.” Burke said.
“Drop it!” Tessman repeated.
The man held the weapon out to the side and dropped it to the floor of the van. Then he raised his hands into the air.
“Come towards me and drop to your stomach! Hands out in front of you!” Burke commanded.
