Seeing the two DHS agents fall silent after being called out, Jack could already guess the reason—just another classic case of inter-agency glory snatching.
Of course, the official excuse was probably "operational security" and "avoiding leaks," but it was obvious.
This "AM" was getting a lot of attention inside DHS. And since what's done is done, Jack could only try to find the silver lining.
DHS—the Department of Homeland Security—had been formed after 9/11, merging several agencies previously under the IRS, like the Secret Service and Customs, as well as departments like the National Infrastructure Protection Center and the Office of Domestic Preparedness, which had once been part of the FBI.
Compared to the FBI, DHS was more administrative. The two agencies usually cooperated more than they competed—especially with Joey Reacher in the room. No need to make anyone look bad.
"If this guy's really using bearer bonds, then the trade has to happen in person," Jack said.
"We don't know why 'AM' went to Denver, but we do know he was planning to come to New York—and that means a hand-to-hand deal."
"Given his reputation for caution, he's definitely not going to use any of the old 'AM' aliases again. That means he'll need time to set up a new identity.
Time—which is now on our side."
Jack's reasoning helped ease the tension in the room.
Strictly speaking, the DHS reps here were Joey Reacher's team. Jack was standing in for the FBI, and Reacher was… Reacher. Add in Danny Reagan as a representative of the NYPD, and really, it was just one big family meeting.
After about an hour of intel sharing, everyone was looking grim.
A $65 million arms deal.
Six hundred and fifty units of something priced at $100,000 each—just thinking about that gave everyone chills.
This wasn't like the Pentagon paying $600 for a toilet seat. Even with the usual price inflation, nothing in the company's known product list matched the specs.
"Could it be a prototype or classified weapon?" Jubal asked, rubbing his temples as he closed a DHS report.
Agent Omar Karim shook his head, equally frustrated.
"We're flying blind here. As per your request, we haven't mobilized any extra assets—we've only pulled what's already on file.
Getting new intel on their R&D would mean poking the Pentagon."
And while alerting the Department of Defense wasn't necessarily a problem, tipping off anyone inside New Era Technologies would be.
It could easily trigger a clean-up operation. The deal might vanish. The trail would go cold.
And instead of catching anyone in the act, the agencies would be left with nothing but an "attempted" terrorist transaction.
No weapons. No buyer. No seller.
No case.
Even with a dozen adjectives tacked on, "preventing a potential illegal arms deal" just didn't carry the same weight as "busting a $65 million weapons transaction in progress."
"So what you're saying," Reacher said, finally cracking a smile, "is that we need to get more intel—without using any official resources."
"Exactly," Jack said, fully aware of what was coming next.
"And hacking them is out of the question. Even if you could break into a defense contractor's firewalls, odds are their systems are air-gapped."
Reacher's grin widened.
"Then saddle up.
Let's be cowboys for a night."
—
"Repeat the plan."
Everyone was now dressed in secondhand thrift-store outfits, wearing black ski masks and gloves.
In less than an hour, the former special investigators had turned into a team of street-level heist pros.
"The server room," Nigeli and Dixon said in unison.
"Operations Director's office," said O'Donnell.
"I'll cover the rest," Reacher said. Then he turned to Jack.
"Driver."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Guess I'm the getaway guy now."
Danny Reagan—NYPD—looked more excited than the actual "criminals."
"My brother James is on patrol tonight. He'll stall the response as long as he can.
But you'll have fifteen minutes, max."
Jubal just stared, half in disbelief, half in admiration.
He'd been partnered with Jack long enough that he thought he'd seen everything.
Apparently not.
An FBI agent, helping a bunch of retired soldiers rob a defense contractor.
And not even in an undercover capacity.
He had no idea how he was going to explain this in his final report.
But this was Reacher's plan.
If the official agencies couldn't move without setting off alarms, then let a bunch of "nobodies" do the dirty work.
Storm New Era's headquarters.
Grab the data.
Hit them hard.
So hard they'd never imagine it was DHS or FBI.
And maybe—just maybe—it would rattle someone enough to make them slip.
—
1:00 a.m.
Outside New Era Technologies headquarters.
A battle-worn Hyundai SUV sat quietly in the darkness.
Inside, masked figures checked their watches.
Then they pulled down their ski masks.
No words.
No speeches.
Just action.
Jack spun the wheel, pressed the gas, and slammed through the parking lot barrier.
CRACK.
The flimsy gate snapped clean in two.
He eased off the gas, yanked the wheel—
The SUV spun beautifully across the empty parking lot and skidded to a halt.
Jack shifted into reverse.
Slammed the pedal.
And the rear of the SUV barreled straight into the front lobby.
"Brace!" he shouted.
They'd deflated the tires beforehand to soften the impact.
The SUV bounced over the two short steps, shattered the glass walls, and slid to a stop inside the main hall.
Alarms screamed.
Glass crunched.
Two security guards at the front desk froze in shock—
Just long enough to eat a pair of beanbag rounds from a Benelli M4 shotgun.
Jack stepped forward.
Crack.
The stock of his shotgun smashed into one guard's jaw.
Thud.
A kick dropped the other cold.
Reacher and the others didn't even look back.
They already knew where to go.
Some ran for the stairs.
Others made straight for the elevators.
Time: 15 minutes.
The game was on.
______
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