The man complied. Rogers joined him at the side of the van. His weapon was in his right hand, a zip tie in his left. He holstered his weapon and then climbed into the van, and had the man secured with his hands behind his back within a few seconds. Tessman climbed in the back, and Burke watched the two men haul the younger man out of the van through the side door in front of him.
Once he stood, facing Burke, Tessman asked him, “Do you have any weapons, knives, or needles on you?”
“No,” the man answered as the overhead lights switched on.
Burke saw that Wilson stood near the light switches on the wall near the treatment room.
Tessman searched him. He handed Burke the man’s wallet from his back pocket as he worked his way down the man’s body.
Burke read the ID, his eyes flickering between the face of the man in front of him and the same face on the driver’s license. “Roman Whitaker, age twenty-four.” Then he recited the address on the license that was right there in Shawano.
“He’s clean,” Tessman said.
“Where’s your phone?” Burke demanded.
The man’s gaze flickered towards the inside of the van. Burke holstered his weapon and climbed into the van. He swept the beam of his penlight across the carpeted floor. He found the phone tucked behind the crate. He held it up to the man’s face. Fortunately, the man had his phone set to use facial recognition to unlock it. He accessed the text messages.
“Who’s Passaglia, how long will it take him to arrive, and how many men will come with him?” Burke asked the man with a demanding stare. The man remained quiet, a defiant expression plastered on his face. “He sent him a text four minutes ago that someone is in the warehouse. Passaglia replied, we're on our way.”
“We have incoming!” Wilson yelled, his face toward the hallway that led to the storerooms. “There’s ammo for those rifles; get them loaded. We may need them!”
Burke pushed the man against the side of the van, his body hitting it with a solid thud. “How many and how soon?” he asked again.
“Guess you’re going to find out,” Roman Whitaker said, his tone cocky.
Burke grabbed hold of his upper arm and stepped towards the front of the warehouse, pulling him along. “Let’s see what yourfriends do when it’s your mug in the front window.” He pulled him into the office and pressed his body against the full-length glass door after being sure it was locked.
A few minutes later, Tessman came into the room holding two M-4s. He handed one to Burke. Then he took a seat at the desk and turned the computer on. “I’m going to see if I can get access to those files while we wait.”
Whitaker tried to turn around.
“Nope!” Burke said. He jammed the barrel of the rifle into his back. “Stay right there.”
“For how long?” Whitaker asked.
“Until your friends show up or you answer all our questions,” Burke replied.
“You’re a cop. You’re not going to shoot me,” he said, that same cockiness in his tone.
“Am I? Have you seen any badges?” Burke said with a laugh. “Maybe you and your buddies crossed the wrong group in your supposed training where you go after street gangs, is it?”
“You don’t know anything,” Whitaker said, sounding less confident.
“We know a hell of a lot more than you think we do. You’re playing with the big kids on the block now, junior. I suggest youcalculate your best odds of survival and act accordingly,” Burke warned.
Whitaker turned his head to view Burke, who hadn’t removed the barrel of the rifle from his back. “Who the hell are you?”
“The men who have you at a disadvantage because we know exactly who you are,” Burke said.
Through comms Wilson’s voice came. “We have all entrances secured. We cut power to the garage door,” he said. “The back door is still reinforced. They’ll have to blow it to gain entry through there. That leaves the front door and the window in the office Moe and Handsome came in through. We try to take as many alive as possible. But we do not let them breach this warehouse. We do not give up those M-4s or the computer.”
“I have Hound dog on at HQ. Going to let him remote into this computer,” Tessman said, his phone pressed to his ear. “I’ve already sent him all the info we want to get off the hard drive.”
“Good idea, Moe,” Jackson said.
“Big Bear is on the horn with Fort McCoy,” Dupont’s voice came through comms. “They’re launching a Black Hawk to your location, ETA forty-five minutes. They’re thrilled to take part in this training mission. They’ll provide backup and take custody of all military weapons and ammo when they arrive. Do they have a clear LZ at your location?”
“Affirmative. The parking lot of this warehouse and front lawn will accommodate a Black Hawk,” Burke replied. Burke knew a lot could happen in forty-five minutes, but it would be a faster response for them to make it onsite than for any federal authorities.
