indication of biker groups infiltrating the area. “I don’t have time for a relationship anyway. In this job, all we do is travel.”
“I hear ya. I think most of the guys who started this work with a wife have gotten divorced.”
“True.”
Roman’s cell phone rang. He flipped it out of his pocket and said his name, “Burk…” knowing it was his lead supervisor.
“Got a tip from the sheriff’s office over in a town called Heber that something’s going on right now. Gear up and meet at UHP.”
“Right.” Roman began closing down his computer. “Gear up. They found something.”
“Now we’re talking.” Phil stood up and hoisted his duffle bag onto the foot of his bed. “Show time.”
A small army consisting of FBI, ATF, Utah Highway Patrol, and local Heber sheriff’s officers stood in a meeting place in a parking lot a quarter mile from their target location.
Roman’s group of officers was also SWAT trained and part of the Violent Criminal
Enterprise apprehension team. They dealt with the worst offenders, explosive devices, and heavy weapons violations.
His lead ATF agent and the lead FBI agent were running the operation. Roman’s heart was already pounding with adrenaline; his helmet under his arm, his AK hanging from his shoulder, armored up like a marine about to fight Afghan terrorists. Roman loved this part of his job best. Intel was one thing, but front line battle? Nothing better.
They had already studied the map and the floor plan of the building they were entering, had a rough idea of the types of weapons, including ingredients used to manufacture bombs, and each unit was assigned an entry point or post.
“Any questions?” Nick asked the men.
No one said a thing.
“Let’s go!”
Roman put his helmet on and climbed into the back of an
armored personnel carrier. As the truck moved, no one spoke, each mentally preparing for the danger ahead. Though all of the men had been tactically trained with basically the same guidelines, working with local sheriff’s departments, or Highway Patrol, wasn’t easy. The FBI units did well with theirs. It was all the same strategy. But the smaller departments needed to step back and let the big boys take over.
He felt the vehicle halt, and they immediately exited the back of the truck. In the darkness, Roman and his men followed the lead agents who used hand signals.
His face shield down, his AK in his hands, Roman and his crew began to surround a huge warehouse building which looked from the outside as abandoned and dilapidated.
His group of six men made their way quietly to a steel back door. Nick held up his hand and they stopped moving as a unit.
All Roman could hear besides his own pounding heart and heavy breathing was the excited respiration of the men behind him. He knew the adrenaline dump pre-entry, and the high level of testosterone that was flowing in each man’s veins. He could smell it.
“Police! Search warrant!” was yelled from the front. A loud smash of the battering ram hitting the door was next.
Nick made a signal. The biggest man in their unit rammed the back door with a metal battering ram. It only took him one powerful hit to punch it open.
They flooded the building and raised their flashlights up with their AK rifles and fanned out. All the while Roman could hear the agents identifying themselves in loud voices, “FBI! Search warrant!” “ATF agents! Come out with your hands up!” as they went room to room.
From the back door, his group encountered nothing. No fleeing hoards of crooks or shots fired.
Not a sound of commotion, but it was a very large building, and they needed to go floor by floor.
The front entry team and rear unit met up. “Nothing yet. Go check each room,” Nick said. “My men, take the second and third floor. Feds, go up to the top and work down.”
Roman and the rest of the team began their ascent up an exposed stairway that was more like a fire escape ladder than an
“I hear ya. I think most of the guys who started this work with a wife have gotten divorced.”
“True.”
Roman’s cell phone rang. He flipped it out of his pocket and said his name, “Burk…” knowing it was his lead supervisor.
“Got a tip from the sheriff’s office over in a town called Heber that something’s going on right now. Gear up and meet at UHP.”
“Right.” Roman began closing down his computer. “Gear up. They found something.”
“Now we’re talking.” Phil stood up and hoisted his duffle bag onto the foot of his bed. “Show time.”
A small army consisting of FBI, ATF, Utah Highway Patrol, and local Heber sheriff’s officers stood in a meeting place in a parking lot a quarter mile from their target location.
Roman’s group of officers was also SWAT trained and part of the Violent Criminal
Enterprise apprehension team. They dealt with the worst offenders, explosive devices, and heavy weapons violations.
His lead ATF agent and the lead FBI agent were running the operation. Roman’s heart was already pounding with adrenaline; his helmet under his arm, his AK hanging from his shoulder, armored up like a marine about to fight Afghan terrorists. Roman loved this part of his job best. Intel was one thing, but front line battle? Nothing better.
They had already studied the map and the floor plan of the building they were entering, had a rough idea of the types of weapons, including ingredients used to manufacture bombs, and each unit was assigned an entry point or post.
“Any questions?” Nick asked the men.
No one said a thing.
“Let’s go!”
Roman put his helmet on and climbed into the back of an
armored personnel carrier. As the truck moved, no one spoke, each mentally preparing for the danger ahead. Though all of the men had been tactically trained with basically the same guidelines, working with local sheriff’s departments, or Highway Patrol, wasn’t easy. The FBI units did well with theirs. It was all the same strategy. But the smaller departments needed to step back and let the big boys take over.
He felt the vehicle halt, and they immediately exited the back of the truck. In the darkness, Roman and his men followed the lead agents who used hand signals.
His face shield down, his AK in his hands, Roman and his crew began to surround a huge warehouse building which looked from the outside as abandoned and dilapidated.
His group of six men made their way quietly to a steel back door. Nick held up his hand and they stopped moving as a unit.
All Roman could hear besides his own pounding heart and heavy breathing was the excited respiration of the men behind him. He knew the adrenaline dump pre-entry, and the high level of testosterone that was flowing in each man’s veins. He could smell it.
“Police! Search warrant!” was yelled from the front. A loud smash of the battering ram hitting the door was next.
Nick made a signal. The biggest man in their unit rammed the back door with a metal battering ram. It only took him one powerful hit to punch it open.
They flooded the building and raised their flashlights up with their AK rifles and fanned out. All the while Roman could hear the agents identifying themselves in loud voices, “FBI! Search warrant!” “ATF agents! Come out with your hands up!” as they went room to room.
From the back door, his group encountered nothing. No fleeing hoards of crooks or shots fired.
Not a sound of commotion, but it was a very large building, and they needed to go floor by floor.
The front entry team and rear unit met up. “Nothing yet. Go check each room,” Nick said. “My men, take the second and third floor. Feds, go up to the top and work down.”
Roman and the rest of the team began their ascent up an exposed stairway that was more like a fire escape ladder than an
Similar Books
