Page 91 of Lone Wolf

Luke Devine had texted that he was still getting a bead on Allman’s rival, Nathan Friedhoff of Youtopia, and that he hoped to line up something concrete for tomorrow. There were arms to twist and cages to rattle and power-crazed tech-mind-eaters to unveil, and the last thing Evan needed to do was waste time dicking around with a bunch of suburban-dad-looking human traffickers.

There was a more direct way in to get the answers he needed.

He figured it was time to take it.

He swung off the beam, punching his gloved hands and steel-toed boots through the fire hose–soaked remaining Sheetrock for purchase. He skidded down, leaving a wake of soggy tracks through the drywall. Coughing out soot, he exited the back of the burn house, moving away from the compound. Then he shot through a side yard, ignoring the homicidal pit bull trying to smash her face through the fence, and popped out another block to the south, where he’d left his Ford F-150.

From the vault of his truck, he withdrew three shitty Nokia phones, a trio of remote-det prepped flashbang grenades, electric caps, detonators, and a pair of zip ties. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he peeled off his gloves and tipped his fingers with superglue to smooth away any prints. He blew on them more from habit than anything else. They were dry within seconds.

He proceeded to prep all three bangs, duct-taping each phone receiver to its respective package. Then he programmed the Nokias’ phone numbers into his RoamZone, taking excruciating care not to hit the CALL button since he had scant interest in having his ashes scattered across Michael Way.

Still breathing hard. Time to take down his nervous system.

He closed his eyes, let his breathing slow, pieced together what little he knew of the operation and firepower inside the compound. Played through a variety of scenarios. Averaged them out. Zeroed in on an appropriate time frame.

He took his ARES and a suppressor but left his Strider knife behind in the glove box, trading it out for a pair of wire clippers.

He was four steps away from the locked pickup when he halted, picturing that rugged paddy wagon from the police parking lot. Reversing, he grabbed a proper frag grenade from the rear of his rig, stuffed it in his pocket, and headed back out.

Cutting through a different side yard, he approached the compound cautiously from the rear. Low profile, tiny movements, moving from cover to cover. Then into the alleys, clipping through chain-link and sliding the explosives into place. When he was done, he discarded the wire clippers and took a beat to wipe sweat from his eyes.

It had taken nearly an hour for him to get all three flashbangs into position.

He pulled straight out from the rear a solid two blocks before taking a circuitous route back to the front, searching gutters for trash. An empty party-size bag of Fritos had snared in a sewer grate.

Perfect.

He picked it up, ducked into an alley, and used his phone to confirm the precise distance and estimated travel time from the Northwest Area Command to the target compound. After checking the time once more— 11:12 P.M.—he breathed fast and hard, bringing himself to the verge of hyperventilating.

Then he dialed 911.

When the operator picked up, he spoke in a hoarse whisper: “Help me. I’m—God—there are so many of them. They took my friend’s daughter and I went—the address—” He gasped out the numbers between panicked breaths, talking over the operator’s questions. “They tied me up—oh God I’m bleeding—have to sneak out but they’re going to—so many weapons, I don’t think I can—Hang on, they’re coming—”

He hung up abruptly.

He tucked the grenade, his ARES, a suppressor, zip ties, and his RoamZone inside the Fritos bag and finished shuffling up the block to the compound. Just before the gate, he crouched to fake-tie his boot, nestling the Fritos bag in a mound of dead leaves wadded up at the curb.

Then he rose and approached the call box.

Nothing on his person aside from the clothes on his back, Jack’s voice like a whisper in his ear: You are the weapon.

Clearing his head, he reset the mission.

1. Deal with the human traffickers through any violent means necessary.

2. Find out how they contact the Wolf.

3. Extract any additional information about the Wolf.

4. Kill all the human traffickers.

5. Kill the Wolf.

6. Find out whoever hired the Wolf to kill Dr. Hill.

7. Kill that person.

8. Do 1–7 in the next five days before Jayla Hill is released from federal