"You're serious?" Reacher turned to look at the three bodyguards now aiming their guns at them, his face more filled with regret than surprise.
The female ranger still wore a smile, but her weapon was firmly trained on Jack. "Sorry, but Congressman Lavoie was very clear—no one can know what really happened. We can't risk trusting you."
"This is the 'chance' you were talking about? FBI boy, looks like your congressman friend didn't take the bait," O'Donnell muttered, recalling what Jack had said earlier.
"FBI? You're FBI?" The female ranger exchanged glances with her two teammates. Panic flashed in all their eyes.
"Supervisory Special Agent Jack Tavoller, FBI." Jack pulled out his badge from a small pocket in his tactical vest and flipped it open for them to see.
"I'm sorry for misleading you. That list of people you planned to silence just got a whole lot longer. Those weren't mercenaries on site earlier—they were my colleagues from the Fugitive Task Force.
Also present was NYPD Detective Danny Reagan, the eldest son of Commissioner Frank Reagan.
Not to mention the key witness in this case, Marlo Burns—the COO of New Era Technologies—and her daughter, who are currently under the personal protection of Commissioner Reagan.
Oh, and let's not forget Reacher has a brother in the Secret Service, so DHS has been involved from the start."
Jack glanced at his watch. "Their SRT team should be arriving right about now."
As if on cue, sirens wailed in the distance. Moments later, seven or eight Suburbans with flashing lights rolled into the farm and surrounded the barn.
"On your knees!"
"Let me see your hands!"
The three bodyguards reluctantly dropped their weapons and knelt down, hands behind their heads, their faces etched with frustration and defeat.
"You're just in time." The big guy frowned as he saw another big guy step out of one of the vehicles. "Aren't police and government suits supposed to show up last in movies?"
Joey Reacher patted his brother's shoulder, then turned to Jack with a grin. "Ms. Moore and David Rossi are leading a tactical team outside Lavoie's office as we speak."
Jack walked up to the female ranger and, under her puzzled gaze, extended his hand. "Here's your chance—become a cooperating witness. Or you can spend the rest of your life in a federal supermax."
The ranger hesitated, glanced at her two teammates, then reluctantly pulled out her phone, dialed Lavoie's number, and handed it to Jack.
Jack didn't take it. Instead, he tilted his head toward Reacher, giving him the honor of finishing the show.
Reacher took the phone and turned on speaker. Lavoie's voice came through clearly: "Is it done?"
"Just about," Reacher replied casually. "There's just one final detail to wrap up. I guess this is what you'd call a win-win—me winning twice."
Before Lavoie could respond, his office door was kicked open. FBI and DHS heavyweights stormed in with a tactical team.
"On your knees!"
"You're under arrest!"
Hearing the chaos over the phone, the three bodyguards went pale. Reacher handed the phone back to the female ranger and offered a word of comfort. "Agent Tavoller's a good guy. Trust me—you made the right choice."
"Just good?" Jack was a little peeved. After losing the Hellcat, his Firebird now needed major repairs—and this bastard gave him nothing more than a "good"?
As the group started gathering their gear and heading out, Joey called after them. "Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Ah, right." Jack handed him the case he was holding. "648 chips. All accounted for. We used two—hope you saw how effective they are."
Joey accepted the case with a resigned sigh. "I meant the money."
"What money?" Reacher asked with zero shame, holding the suitcase packed with $65 million in bearer bonds.
"Assholes!" Joey's eyes bulged as he watched the crew casually climb into the Suburbans he'd brought.
"You're not coming back with us?" Reacher looked surprised as Jack and Anna remained behind while the special investigators piled into the borrowed SUVs.
"Like Langston and Lavoie, I don't like leaving loose ends. There's one last thing I need to do," Jack said with a sigh, already resigning himself to his never-ending workload. "Head back and wait for me. Oh, and don't sneak out again until you fix that broken door."
"You're the one who busted it!" Reacher snapped.
"Because I was worried about you."
They were still bickering when a black-painted Black Hawk helicopter descended onto the farm. Clara opened the cabin door and waved them over.
—
Long Island MacArthur Airport was a small civilian airport located in the town of Islip. Inside one of the hangars, a Cessna private jet was being towed in slowly.
The lighting inside was dim. A group of Asians stood respectfully, bowing toward a skinny man with medium-length hair and a small mustache, whose bangs nearly covered his eyes.
The man had a vicious look in his eyes and wore a long black trench coat. He gave a slight nod to his men before striding toward a sleek black Audi R8 sports car.
"FBI! Don't move!"
"FBI! On your knees!"
"Hands where I can see them!"
The hangar was suddenly plunged into darkness. The shouted commands echoed through the space, freezing everyone in place.
The mustached man cursed under his breath, crouched low, and whipped out a pistol from behind. He fired blindly in the direction of the voices. His men followed suit, drawing their weapons and spraying bullets in desperation, trying to protect their boss.
But it was no use. The SWAT team had already infiltrated the hangar, equipped with night vision and assault rifles. Using every bit of cover available, they returned fire the moment shots rang out, quickly overwhelming the group of Asians.
The mustached man moved with surprising agility. Staying low, he sprinted to the Audi R8, yanked open the door, and jumped in. A few bullets clanged against the reinforced panels—clearly the car had been modified with bulletproof armor.
The V10 engine roared to life, but as soon as he turned the corner, he slammed on the brakes. The hangar's only exit was now blocked by five Suburbans, their red-and-blue lights flashing.
As the headlights flipped on, the mustached man leaned back in the driver's seat in defeat and muttered a furious "Ah, sibal."
Jack strolled up holding a Barrett sniper rifle in one hand and gently tapped the car window with the barrel. "Nice car, buddy. Real nice."
______
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