“What is it with twisted Florida murderers and alligators?” Ange said.
I couldn’t help cracking a smile at that. I thought back to when we’d tracked down a trio of serial killer brothers who’d committed various murders across the Everglades for over ten years. They too had lived among alligators, even keeping a few chained up to protect their secret hideout in the middle-of-nowhere swamps.
“The good news is that time is on our side,” Scott said. “If Lynch had hostages and a ticking clock to their potential deaths and lists of demands, this entire operation would be severely altered.”
Scott was right. For the time being, it looked as though we had time to move all the pieces into place before taking the first shot.
We thanked the police chief for all his intel. He told us he’d help us in any way he could, then stepped out of the truck and shut the doors behind him, leaving just the four of us.
Using intel from Chief Barton, as well as information we’d gathered on our own that day, we put together a strike plan. It was intricate and would involve all four of us working together from various positions around the property. Surprise, deception, and swift action were key, and our plan relied heavily on all three. It was dangerous, but there were no three people I’d rather go to battle with than them.
We decided that Scott and Ange would provide cover while Jason and I moved in.
“There’s an old water tower here,” I said, glancing at Ange. “It should offer a good view of the compound for you to cover us with your sniper.”
“That’s nearly half a mile away,” Jason said.
“Child’s play for Ange,” Scott chimed in.
Jason smiled. “Then Scott can operate the drone from there as well,” he added.
“Drone?” I said.
Jason nodded.
“We’ve been working on a brand-new prototype with Murph,” Scott said. “It’s got all of the bells and whistles, plus it’s quiet. Very quiet. And fast, and it’s got a hell of a long range.”
“It’s also been customized with a few… unique features,” Jason said. “It’s got a suppressed .22 pistol with fifteen rounds of ammunition. And a high-powered air gun that can shoot knockout darts up to fifty yards.”
Ange and I exchanged glances. Murph’s inventions were always impressive, but with Jason having inherited his father’s fortune, their designs no longer had any monetary limitations. I was wholly impressed and looked forward to seeing what else they could create.
Working together for over an hour, we went over the plan again and again until we all had it down by heart. We’d underestimated Lynch, and it was time to show him just how much he’d underestimated us as well.
FORTY-THREE
The four of us exited the truck and strode for the back of our Range Rover. Opening the rear door, I reached for our duffle and pulled out Ange’s and my bulletproof vests.
“We’ve got something better for you guys, Logan,” Scott said.
He slid out a big hardcase of their own, hinged it open, and pulled out two black vests that looked like something straight out of a Batman movie.
He handed them to Jason and me, and I was instantly amazed by how light and malleable they were.
“These flimsy things work?” I said.
“They’re made of layers of special extremely high-tensile-strength fibers,” Jason said. “It makes them lighter and gives them better stopping power than ordinary bulletproof vests. Murph worked with a group of top engineers on the design.”
It was nice to see Jason using his father’s dirty money to try and rectify some of his father’s wrongs.
Jason and I donned our vests. I kept my Sig holstered under the right side of my waistband and attached my dive knife to the back of my belt, running it parallel to the ground with the handle facing to my right. Then we all checked our night vision optics, radios, and rifles before loading into the blacked-out SUV.
Scott met with Chief Barton again, letting him know that we were preparing to engage and that Scott would keep him informed of our activity. Then my senator friend climbed into the front seat, started up the engine, then pulled us out and turned around.
According to old maps, the abandoned service road was a mile back in the direction we’d come down the lonely one-lane road. It was difficult to spot, a slight variation in the thick forest. The giveaway was a rusted gate, and I hopped out and made quick work of the lock with a pair of bolt cutters.
Scott drove us onto the pothole-riddled, shrub-covered sorry excuse for a road. The Range Rover handled every twist and turn and drastic deviation in the surface with ease. The road cut north at first, then eventually banked west back toward the alligator farm. Scott killed the headlights. He donned a pair of night vision goggles to navigate in the near pitch black and slowed our speed.
Ange kept her head down, staring at a tablet computer that showed our current position on a GPS. After ten minutes of bouncing, zigging and zagging our way back to the west, Ange told Scott to stop.
“This is it,” she said, spreading two fingers out on the screen to zoom in on the map. She pointed out the left-side window and added, “The fence is almost exactly a quarter of a mile due south from us.”
Scott pulled over but left the engine running. The steady hum wouldn’t be loud enough to hear through all that jungle, but the initial ignition sound of starting it up might.
Jason and I climbed out, opened the back door, and grabbed our weapons of choice. For
