He heard a few more gunshots far back in the distance, followed by the sound of the officer yelling into his radio.
Heaving and covered in a layer of sweat, Titus reached the main structures of the abandoned farm just as Lynch and the others were gathering in the parking lot.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Lynch spat when he saw Titus appear down the winding driveway, still running like he’d seen a damn ghost.
“Cops!” he grunted. “The bastards found us somehow.” He stopped, placed his hands on his knees, and caught his breath. “Two of them pulled up to the gate. I heard them call in to backup. More are coming and they’re gonna break in.”
Lynch’s eyes grew massive. He fumed, then thought for a second and narrowed his gaze.
“Like hell they are,” he barked. The white supremacist leader stepped forward, then turned around and addressed all of his men. “Any pig sets foot on this property gets gunned down, understand me?” His men looked at their leader in awe, trying to take in the magnitude of the moment. “Titus, get inside and open up the arsenal. I want everyone fully armed, with automatic rifles in hands. And I want everyone scattered and on full alert.” Titus did as he was ordered, running inside and unlocking a closet packed with rifles, bulletproof vests, and stacks of ammunition cases. He and the others handed out the weapons, then returned outside to where Lynch was standing with his shotgun held over his head.
“They want a standoff,” Lynch yelled, “then we’ll give them a damn standoff!”
FORTY-ONE
An hour after we informed Jane of Lynch’s likely position, she called back with an update. Two officers had been shot outside the gate of the abandoned alligator farm and one of them had died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The compound was currently surrounded by over twenty police officers, the numbers increasing with every passing minute as more precincts got involved.
She informed us that cops had been fired upon with automatic rifles when they’d tried to break into the gate. They were keeping their distance, waiting for the right time to strike or to try and negotiate a way out of the mess.
The call only lasted a few minutes as she had to go. She was on her way north to provide whatever assistance she could. I thanked her for the intel, then hung up.
“What the hell kind of Pandora’s box did we open?” I said.
“The kind that isn’t contained without making a big mess,” Ange replied. “This guy Lynch isn’t going to go down easy. He’s not going to surrender.”
I agreed with her completely.
We researched the alligator farm more, kept up with the progress as best we could, and tried to come up with the best course of action. By the time the sun began to set, it was clear that the standoff could last a while. The governor of Florida made a statement that they’d never give in to the demands of radical organizations and that the Aryan Order would feel the full wrath of the law if they didn’t turn themselves over.
Lynch replied to the governor in his usual style of homemade video and uploaded it to the internet. Local news stations got hold of it and played it for everyone to see again and again.
The footage showed Lynch standing in a room with a Confederate flag draped across the wall at his back. He wore a bulletproof vest full of magazines, had a rifle strapped across his chest, and held a twelve-gauge shotgun in his right hand.
“Any officer who steps foot into our domain will suffer the same fate as Sergeant Tate of the Homestead Police,” he said. “I have an army of well-armed, well-trained combatants ready to lay waste to whatever numbers are sent our way. You will be slaughtered and fed to the gators. We shall drench these swamps with your blood, and we will send a loud and clear message to this twisted nation. Please, try and test our resolve. This will be Waco all over again, only much worse for law enforcement. I say again, all who set foot on this land will die!”
He ended the video with a quick Nazi salute and a pan over a group of masked skinheads yelling and raising rifles over their heads. Ange clicked off the television when Scarlett stepped in through the front door with Atticus.
“I have the news on my phone,” she said, seeing the remote in Ange’s hand. “Pretty messed up what that guy’s doing.” Atticus said hi, then plopped down on the rug at our feet. Scarlett filled a glass with lemonade, took a sip, then moved over to us. “You guys think the police can handle it?”
“I have no doubt,” I said. “A few of my old friends from the Navy are SWAT. They’re some of our nation’s best. Lynch and his guys will be taken down, but I’m just worried about how many might be lost in the process. He’s not a man to be taken lightly.”
Scarlett finished her juice, then stepped into the guest bathroom to take a shower. When the water turned on, Ange slid closer to me.
“You’ve got that look in your eye, Logan,” she said.
I shook my head. “I can’t help feeling responsible for this,” I said. My hands tightened into fists as I thought about all that Lynch had done over the past week. John Ridley, the security guard at the motorsports store, attacking us, and now murdering a police officer. “I won’t let him kill any more people,” I added, staring at Ange with ferocity and resolve in my eyes. I rose to my feet. “I’m
