PART 2
I slammed the heavy wooden shutters closed just as a suppressed round thudded into the doorframe, splintering the oak.
“Get down, Felix! Stay away from the windows!” I shouted, racking the bolt of my M4. Titan was already in position, holding perfectly still in the shadows by the kitchen door, his muscles coiled tight.
This wasn’t a scare tactic. These guys were moving with deliberate, military precision. They bounded forward in pairs, covering each other’s advances. I kicked out a pane of glass in the living room, took aim at a shadow darting past the old barn, and squeezed the trigger twice. The shadow crumpled. The others immediately dispersed, seeking cover behind the rusted tractors and water troughs.
The element of surprise was gone. They knew they weren’t dealing with a terrified old man anymore.
“Caleb, who are they?!” Felix cried out from the floorboards, clutching an old hunting shotgun.
“Professionals,” I gritted my teeth. “We need to find out why Hayes wants this place so badly. It’s not for a subdivision.”
The gunfire ceased, plunging the farm back into an eerie silence. They were regrouping. I knew from experience that a lull in a firefight was more dangerous than the shooting. I left Felix guarding the hallway and slipped out the back door with Titan, using the thick cover of the overgrown cornfield to flank the property.
We moved silently under the moonlight until we reached the edge of the property, where the land plummeted into a steep, rocky canyon. That’s when Titan caught a scent. He pulled me toward a patch of brush that looked completely undisturbed. I pulled back the thick vines and froze.
Hidden beneath the foliage was a freshly cut, heavily rutted dirt road winding down into the canyon—a blind spot completely invisible from the main highway. I knelt and ran my hand over the tire tracks. Heavy vehicles. And scattered in the dirt were dozens of spent 5.56 military-grade brass casings.
The sickening realization hit me. Gregory Hayes wasn’t a real estate tycoon. This isolated farm sat right on the county border, bypassing all the highway weigh stations and police checkpoints. Hayes was using Felix’s canyon as an undetectable, high-volume smuggling corridor for weapons and narcotics. Felix’s farm was the only thing standing between Hayes and a multi-million dollar black-market empire.
I pulled out my satellite phone and dialed Harrison, an old friend and federal agent back in D.C.
“Caleb, it’s 2 AM. What is it?”
“I need federal backup at the Pendleton farm, right now. I just stumbled onto a massive smuggling hub.”
“I’m running the coordinates,” Harrison replied, typing rapidly. “Listen to me, Caleb. The local sheriffs are completely compromised. The closest tactical FBI unit is three hours away. You need to get out of there.”
“I can’t. They’ve got us surrounded.”
Before Harrison could say another word, the deafening roar of armored SUVs tore through the night. I peered through the cornstalks. Four matte-black trucks smashed through Felix’s front gate, kicking up clouds of dust. Heavily armed mercenaries poured out, carrying automatic weapons and flashbangs. And stepping out of the lead vehicle, wearing a tailored suit with a combat vest thrown over it, was Gregory Hayes himself.
He wasn’t sending his street thugs anymore. He was here to wipe us off the map.
“Titan,” I whispered, gripping my rifle as the mercenaries began advancing on the farmhouse in a diamond formation. “It’s time to go to work.”
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PART 3
I sprinted back to the farmhouse just as the first flashbang shattered the front window, blinding the living room in a brilliant arc of white light.
“Fall back, Felix! To the canyon ridge!” I yelled over the ringing in my ears.
We burst out the back door just as the mercenaries breached the front. Automatic fire chewed through the drywall, shredding the kitchen cabinets behind us. We scrambled up the rocky incline toward the canyon ridge, the only defensible high ground on the property. My lungs burned, but years of SEAL training kept my heart rate steady. I dropped to one knee behind a massive oak tree, providing covering fire. I dropped two mercenaries who tried to rush the slope, but there were simply too many of them.
“Flank them!” Hayes’s voice echoed through the trees, laced with arrogant fury. “Don’t let them out of that canyon!”
Three mercenaries broke off from the main group, slipping into the tall grass to circle around our right side. They were trying to trap us against the sheer drop of the cliff.
I looked at Titan. The dog’s eyes were locked on the rustling grass, his body practically vibrating with anticipation. I unclipped his tactical leash. “Get ’em, boy.”
Titan launched himself like a heat-seeking missile. He vanished into the brush, completely silent. A few seconds later, a terrifying scream ripped through the night, followed by the frantic spray of a submachine gun firing wildly into the air. Titan had taken down the first flanker, crushing the man’s weapon arm. In the chaos, I pivoted and fired two clean shots, neutralizing the remaining two flankers before they even knew where the attack came from. Titan trotted back to my side, unharmed and ready for more.
But our luck was running out. My rifle clicked empty. I tossed it aside and drew my sidearm, checking the magazine. Seven rounds left. Felix clutched his empty shotgun, his chest heaving.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel. Gregory Hayes stepped into the moonlight clearing, flanked by four men with their rifles trained squarely on my chest.
“You put up a hell of a fight for a drifter,” Hayes sneered, casually drawing a customized pistol from his holster. “But this land is mine. It always was.”
He raised his weapon, aiming right at Felix’s head. “Say hello to your real grandson, old man.”
Suddenly, the rhythmic, deafening thwack-thwack-thwack of helicopter rotors drowned out his words. Two massive FBI tactical Black Hawks crested the canyon wall, their blinding searchlights pinning Hayes and his men like bugs on a stage.
“Drop your weapons! FBI! Get on the ground!” a booming voice echoed from the loudspeakers.
State Police cruisers came screaming down the secret dirt road, cutting off their escape. Harrison hadn’t just sent a tactical team; he had scrambled every federal agent in the state. Hayes looked at the helicopters, then at me, his face completely drained of color. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees as tactical teams swarmed the ridge.
The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden glow over the battered farmhouse. The air smelled of cordite and morning dew.
Agent Harrison found us sitting on the porch a few hours later. “Hayes is looking at life in federal prison. The smuggling ring is completely dismantled,” he said, handing me a cup of coffee. “You did good, Caleb.”
After the feds cleared out, I packed my duffel bag and whistled for Titan. It was time to hit the road again.
“Where are you going?” Felix asked, standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted, but the fear was gone from his eyes.
“My job is done, Felix. You’re safe now.”
The old man walked down the steps and placed a hand on my shoulder. “This farm is too big for an old man to run alone. And Titan still hasn’t finished all those steaks in the freezer. You don’t have to keep drifting, Caleb. You can stay. Both of you.”
I looked out over the sprawling green fields, then down at Titan, who was already lying comfortably on the porch as if he owned the place. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel the urge to keep moving.
“Alright, Grandpa,” I smiled. “I guess we’re home.”
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