After messaging Jack the night before, Jane Banner and the U.S. Marshals had maintained surveillance on the Zapotec cartel's distribution site—a three-story building on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Just moments ago, a blue Honda Fit matching the description of Maldonado's getaway car had driven into the building's rear lot. Though the Marshals couldn't confirm the occupants due to poor visibility, it was too much of a coincidence to dismiss.
Marshal Samueluels had suggested sending an undercover agent disguised as a delivery driver to scope out the situation. However, as soon as the decoy truck arrived at the front door, the cartel members opened fire with automatic weapons. The agent barely escaped with his life, his vehicle riddled with bullet holes.
Fortunately, the Marshals had come prepared this time, bringing enough rifles to secure both the front and back exits of the building. Still, they were outgunned and outnumbered, with nearly twice as many shooters inside the house.
"Why didn't you alert the Philadelphia SWAT team earlier?" Jack asked over the phone, confused at the Marshals' lack of backup. "You didn't learn anything from Charlotte?"
Though the Marshals had two tactical units—the Special Operations Group (USMS-SOG) and the Special Response Team (USMS-SRT)—these units weren't readily available. The SOG was based in Louisiana and required advance deployment. The SRT had a small presence in Washington, D.C., and a few Southern states but wasn't large enough to cover urgent situations across the country. Consequently, the Marshals often relied on local law enforcement or collaborated with the FBI.
Despite being under heavy fire, Jane's voice remained surprisingly calm. "We contacted them. Philly SWAT is tied up with a bombing incident in the north. They said it'll take them at least an hour to get here. I figured calling you would be faster."
"Hold tight. We'll be there in ten minutes," Jack assured her.
The task force convoy, consisting of two GMC SUVs and the command vehicle, came to a stop by the roadside. Jack got out of the driver's seat, and JJ helped him put on a bulletproof vest. Inside the command vehicle, Jubal, Hannah, and JJ were already fully geared up, loading extra magazines into their tactical pouches.
"Command vehicle's under Alice's control now," Jubal announced. "I alerted the Philly field office. Their SWAT team should arrive in twenty minutes."
Captain Roland, who had been dozing off, woke up and blinked at the scene in astonishment. "What's going on? Are you guys going to war?"
"We may have found Maldonado," Jack replied. "This vehicle is now the temporary command center. Please coordinate road closures with state police and Philly PD."
With that, Jack stepped out and saw Clay tightening the straps on Aubrey's vest. Both men had exited their GMCs and were ready to roll.
"I'm coming with you," declared Galeson, the DEA agent, as he donned a DEA-branded vest. His expression was full of determination.
"Fine. You're with Spencer," Jack said, referring to Clay. He wasn't going to refuse—he was still waiting for Galeson to slip up and reveal his true intentions.
Jack had been transparent about his collaboration with Jane and the Marshals, sharing real-time updates with his team (albeit filtering out some personal exchanges with Jane).
The convoy's two GMCs activated their sirens and lights as they sped off toward the scene. The command vehicle remained behind, deploying its equipment, including an extendable communications mast.
"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"
Gunfire tore through a police car's engine, causing the hood to fly up like a piece of shredded metal. Two wounded Philly patrol officers lay prone behind the vehicle, unable to move.
Philadelphia, one of the nation's oldest cities, carried both its historical significance and a dark underbelly. The building under siege was located at the intersection of two impoverished neighborhoods, just four blocks from the infamous Kensington Avenue, known as "Zombie City."
The area was a desolate wasteland—its subway stations and schools long abandoned. Churches, post offices, and hospitals had been shuttered, leaving behind only "health centers" for addicts to receive legally sanctioned injections. Even the drug-addicted residents had fled from the ongoing gunfight.
Jane crouched behind a Suburban's front tire, clutching an M4A1 carbine. She fired bursts at the windows of the fortified building, where cartel gunmen continued to rain bullets indiscriminately.
In less than ten minutes of combat, both sides had exchanged over a thousand rounds. The Marshals, led by Samueluels, held their ground thanks to their military experience. Two of them had even been specially trained by the SOG.
Philadelphia police, however, had fared poorly. Three patrol cars had arrived, resulting in one officer dead and three wounded. The remaining officers were too scared to advance.
Samueluels emptied a magazine into the building, splintering wood and metal, but the cartel gunmen—firing blindly from cover—remained unscathed. Despite the building's ramshackle appearance, its exterior was reinforced with makeshift metal and wooden plating. The 5.56mm rounds from the Marshals' rifles couldn't penetrate it.
"Where's that FBI backup you promised?" Samueluels yelled as he reloaded.
"Jack said they'd be here in under ten minutes!" Jane shouted back, repositioning herself.
Samueluels patted his remaining ammo, his wrinkled face tightening in frustration. He had hoped to outshine the FBI this time, only to find himself cornered.
"Tell them if they're not here in five minutes, they'll be retrieving our corpses!" he barked, throwing his white cowboy hat to the ground. As he peeked out to fire again, a hail of bullets forced him to retreat.
Suddenly, a deafening BOOM echoed across the battlefield. One of the most dangerous cartel shooters—perched in the attic and wielding a modified M16—was silenced instantly. A fist-sized hole appeared in the wall beneath his window.
BOOM!
Another shot rang out, creating a similar hole at a different window. The corresponding gunfire ceased.
Both Samueluels and Jane turned toward the source of the gunshots. Across the street, the barrel of a Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle poked from an attic window, still smoking.
"They're here!" Jane shouted in relief. Then, she heard a familiar voice beside her.
"Did someone call for backup?"
She turned and saw Jack crouched beside her, wielding a Noveske N4 rifle with a grin on his face.