Corruption

Disclaimer:  I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein.  I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.  🙂

Summary:  The team takes on a corrupt local police department on their quest to prevent a hostile government takeover.  Mission-focused.

Prologue

Jim pulled the black Land Rover into a parking space near the main entrance of the car dealership. An employee whose name tag said Charlie was waiting for him when he opened the door.

"Hello there! Looking to trade?" he asked.

"Well, I thought about getting one of those fancy little sportscars, like my daughter has," Jim answered. "They look like lots of fun."

"I've got a nice one over here if you want to take a look at it. Fire engine red."

Jim smiled to himself. It was a test, to make sure he was the right man. And a clever one, at that.

"My daughter's is red," he responded. "She'd never forgive me if I bought the same color. Got anything in blue?"

It was Charlie's turn to smile as he stuck one finger in the air. "I have just the car. Follow me."

Jim followed him halfway across the lot until they reached a navy blue Corvette. He unlocked the door, then handed Jim the key. "Here you go. Take her for a spin if you'd like."

Then Charlie disappeared, and Jim sat down in the driver's seat. He reached down and located the black box underneath the passenger seat. A fingerprint scan and a three-digit code later, he inserted the tiny disc into the slot and it began to play.

"Good morning, Jim," the familiar voice began, and stock footage of a peaceful protest assembly began to play. "The Backwoods Patriots is a grassroots organization based in the southeastern United States. Ostensibly, their purpose is to support the principles of democracy. In reality, their political agenda looks more like fascism."

As Jim watched, the video footage changed from a quiet gathering to one where a handful of protesters were brandishing weapons. The voice continued. "What began as peaceful protest gatherings are now peppered with an ever-increasing presence of firepower, stretching their First Amendment freedom to the limit and, we fear, headed toward a violent confrontation and seizure of political control.

"Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it, is to neutralize their organization before they are able to do so. As always, should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This disc will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Jim."

As the disc reached the end, Jim exited the car, leaving the key in the ignition, and headed back toward his Land Rover.

Chapter 1

"'The Backwoods Patriots'?" echoed Max with a smirk. "A name like that makes it hard to take them seriously."

"That may be true, Max, but don't underestimate them," Jim cautioned. "It seems the group is made up of individuals in authoritative positions throughout the region — lawyers, military officers, law enforcement."

"With the kind of power that could be dangerous if misused," Grant finished, and Jim nodded his agreement.

"Do we know who's in charge?" Shannon asked.

"We're fairly sure that the man calling the shots is a local police lieutenant named Gage Peterson," Nicholas answered, as an image of the uniformed lawman appeared on the screen. "He has quite the reputation — arrogant, opinionated, even aggressive at times."

"A troublemaker?" inquired Max.

"He's certainly done some things that would get most uniforms written up," Grant affirmed, "but somehow he always manages to escape punishment."

"It probably doesn't hurt that his father is the well-respected, recently retired police chief," muttered Nicholas bitterly.

"One of the good ol' boys, eh?" quipped Shannon.

"And likely the person getting the Patriots their firepower," Jim informed them. "Rumor has it they're keeping an arsenal of weapons under wraps somewhere — more than they could have possibly obtained by any legal means."

"So where's Peterson getting them?" Max wondered.

"That's one of the things we have to find out," advised Jim. "The other is what he's planning to do with them."

"The last time the Patriots held a rally, it almost went south," Grant mused. "A few shots were exchanged before it got broken up. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the community is pretty scared."

"We think they're planning something major within the next week or so," finished Jim, "while they've got the upper hand." He smiled knowingly at his teammates, his blue eyes twinkling. "At least they think they do."

*******

Nicholas stared into the mirror as he adjusted the collar on his police uniform for perhaps the fifth time, his gaze meeting Max's bright blue eyes. The blond stood at his right shoulder, watching him with amusement.

"I don't know how I let Jim talk me into these things," he muttered, in a voice Max barely heard.

His friend's smile faded slightly. "It's not like you to be this nervous about a role, buddy," he observed. "What's going on?"

"Small town politics," Nicholas mused, "and policies and procedures that are likely very different from San Francisco — and unfamiliar."

Max nodded, understanding. "You'll be fine, Nicholas," he said reassuringly. "Besides, if you get stuck, Shannon will be close by."

"That is one good thing," the dark-haired agent agreed, turning from the mirror and pausing to give his friend a grateful shoulder pat. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Max," he smiled, as Shannon entered the room, smartly dressed in a navy business suit and ready to assume her role as human resources specialist.

"Are you ready to see what we can find out about Lieutenant Gage Peterson?" she asked breezily.

Nicholas nodded. "Let's do this."

*******

The New River Police Department was an older, faded brick building on the outskirts of town. As Nicholas pulled up to the front entrance, he was met by a tall, stocky gentleman with a controlled smile and an extra-firm handshake.

"I'm Deputy Chief Williams," he greeted. "You must be our new recruit."

"Nicholas Martin," the dark-haired agent confirmed.

"Welcome to New River, Martin," the deputy chief said stiffly, and Nicholas made a mental note of what was apparently the precinct's custom of calling one another by their last names. "Come on in, and we'll get started on your training."

Nicholas followed Williams inside the building to the conference room. Williams used his open hand to indicate the empty chair in front of him, and Nicholas promptly sat down.

"There are two other patrol officers on your shift," Williams advised. "Deputy Fairbanks and Sergeant Smith. You'll meet them both later. Fairbanks will be your partner once you finish your orientation."

"I didn't realize the precinct was so small," Nicholas mused. "Three officers a shift?"

"Technically, there are four," Williams amended. "Smith is usually paired up with Lieutenant Peterson, but he is away at a conference this week."

Williams opened the procedure manual in front of him. "I run the show from here, and of course we have our dispatchers and office personnel."

As if on cue, Williams' police radio suddenly went off. He answered the call, spoke briefly, then turned back to Nicholas.

"Speaking of which, we also have a new HR specialist starting today," he reported, standing up. "She just arrived. I'm going to go say hello. I'll be right back."

Nocholas nodded and smiled to himself. Shannon. "Mind if I use the restroom?"

"Sure thing," Williams answered. "It's just right down the hall. I'll show you."

Nicholas thanked the deputy chief and disappeared into the men's room. After a cursory search to make sure there were neither cameras nor additional personnel inside, the agent pulled out his communicator.

"Jim."

The team leader responded quickly. "Yes, Nicholas?"

"Peterson is away at a conference this week," the dark-haired agent said succinctly. "I'm not sure where and I didn't want to ask. I'm set to meet the other officers around noon. And Shannon just arrived."

"Keep us posted," Jim acknowledged.

"Right," Nicholas replied, before breaking the connection. A few moments later, he returned to the conference room, where Williams soon rejoined him and his local procedural training began.

*******

Like Nicholas, Shannon had a cover story which assumed years of human resources experience under her belt. With just a bit of precinct-specific orientation, she was ready to get to work.

One of her first projects was filing reimbursement receipts for approved personnel expenses. A quick glance through the stack of papers revealed that several of them belonged to Gage Peterson.

She went through the receipts one by one, setting aside the ones that belonged to Peterson so she could come back to them at the end of her task. She worked discreetly for the benefit of the specialist she was sharing an office with, but she need not have worried. Her companion was nose deep in the daily crossword puzzle and was paying almost no attention at all.

Shannon turned her back toward her coworker and spread Gage Peterson's personnel file on top of the filing cabinet. She unfastened the tiny camera disguised as a brooch from her left lapel, then began snapping photos as she leafed through the pages one by one. When she was finished, she pinned the brooch back onto her blazer. Then she placed the current receipts in Peterson's file, closed it up, and returned it to its proper location.

She sat back down at her computer and busied herself with her other assigned taaks for the day. Once her office mate left for a break, she quickly pulled up Peterson's monthly schedule, printed it off, folded it, and stuck it in her purse to give to Grant later on.

Chapter 2

Nicholas spent the morning going over the procedure manual with Deputy Chief Williams. Around noon, they broke for lunch, and Williams showed Nicholas to the break room before returning to his office. Fairbanks and Smith had returned from morning patrol duties and were sitting at one of the small tables. Nicholas introduced himself to each with a smile and a warm handshake.

Nicholas made a selection from the vending machine and sat down to make small talk with his new companions. In reality, the agent stuck to vague impersonal comments and focused instead on listening and observation.

Smith pulled his sandwich out of its bag and sighed. "I'll bet Peterson is having himself a fancy five-course meal right now, while I'm stuck with this puny little ham sandwich."

Fairbanks blinked. "Is the food really that good at those conferences? I figured they'd just bring in a box lunch or something."

"Not according to Peterson," Smith countered. "He told me that most of the time the meals are catered. They even got to try that fancy new Italian place they just opened in San Antonio last time he went."

San Antonio. Texas. Nicholas made a mental note.

"I'm sure they can afford it, as much as those things cost," commented Fairbanks.

"Yeah, we could have probably taken all the money the Department spends on training for Peterson and bought two new police cruisers by now," Smith said dryly. "I don't understand why he needs to go out of state for training every single month."

"Especially since they aren't doing a damn thing to fix his attitude," quipped Fairbanks. He shot a glance at his new colleague. "Be glad you'll be riding with me, Martin," he said coolly. "I'm a hell of a lot nicer than Peterson."

"He really is," Smith agreed, tipping his can of soda toward Fairbanks as a makeshift toast before taking a drink. "Peterson's my partner, but I don't even like riding with him sometimes."

"What's so bad about him?" Nicholas asked, doing his best to frame the question as nothing more than innocent curiosity.

"Let's just say he's a 'shoot first and ask questions later' kind of guy," Fairbanks responded. "He definitely likes to throw his weight around, and not in a nice way."

"The sad thing is, he gets away with it," retorted Smith. "Of course, it helps to have friends in high places."

Nicholas waited for Smith to clarify, but he didn't. He contemplated asking what Smith meant by that, but thought better of it since he already knew that he was likely referring to Peterson's status as the son of the recently-retired chief.

Smith turned to Nicholas, his expression serious. "If I were you, I'd steer clear of Gage Peterson," he advised, picking up the newspaper folded beside him. "He eats newbies for breakfast. And if you happen to get on his bad side, he will bury you. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

As Nicholas was contemplating his new colleague's last remark — and whether or not to take him literally — Deputy Chief Williams entered the room.

“That was CPS on the phone,” he advised. “They need someone to go with them on a home visit."

“Not it,” said Smith and Fairbanks simultaneously, and Smith rattled his newspaper and went back to reading.

The no-nonsense deputy chief allowed a small smile to cross his lips as he looked at Nicholas. “Looks like it’s you, partner.”

“Me?” Nicholas said in disbelief, trying to hide his growing anxiety. "But this is my first day. I've barely even started training. Shouldn't someone go with me?"

"You have all the proper experience and credentials," Williams said reassuringly. "You'll be fine."

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to do," Nicholas protested, hardly daring to believe that they were going to send him out alone — and that Williams was just going to go along with it. "What's CPS?"

"Child Protective Services," Fairbanks explained. "They handle cases of child abuse and neglect. Sometimes they ask us to come along so that the people they are talking to don't act up."

"Relax, Martin," Smith sighed impatiently. "It's no big deal. You won't be arresting anyone. You'll just be there for show." Smith looked up at Williams. "Who's the worker?"

"Marshall."

The sergeant smiled. “She’s a good worker. Been with the Department a few years,” he advised Nicholas with a wink. “She’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“Here’s the address,” Williams offered, handing Nicholas a piece of paper and the keys to one of the patrol cars. “Miss Marshall wants you to meet her at the pizza place a mile away, and then ride in together.”

And with one last incredulous look at his three companions, Nicholas grabbed his hat and took his leave.

*****

As soon as Nicholas pulled out onto the highway, he pulled out his communicator.

“Jim.”

“Yes, Nicholas?” the elder agent responded.

“I’ve been sent out on a call.”

Jim exchanged surprised glances with Grant. “By yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” Nicholas confirmed. “Apparently the police here sometimes accompany the local Child Protective Services workers when they go out to deal with problematic clients. No one else wanted to go.” A pause. “The worker I’m meeting is a female. Last name Marshall.”

“I wonder if Gage Peterson ever went out on a call with Miss Marshall,” Jim mused.

“I’m hoping to find out,” answered Nicholas. “Discreetly, of course.”

Jim nodded, though Nicholas couldn’t see him. “Let us know what she says.”

“Will do.” And Nicholas switched the communicator off and concentrated on the unfamiliar road.

Chapter 3

The sport utility vehicle with the government tags was already backed into a parking space at Marco’s Pizza by the time Nicholas arrived in his patrol car. The dark-haired agent pulled into the adjacent space, so that the two driver’s doors were next to one another. Nicholas rolled his window down, and the person in the government vehicle did the same.

“You must be Miss Marshall,” Nicholas greeted with a smile.

“Savannah." The woman who returned Nicholas’ smile had big brown eyes and shoulder-length dark hair with streaks of gray. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

“I’m new,” Nicholas explained. “The name’s Nicholas Martin.”

“Well, Officer Martin, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. How can I help you today?”

The Child Protective Services worker wrinkled her nose. “I need to do a home visit on the Roberts family. There are allegations that Mister Roberts is using drugs, and there’s an infant in the home. We’ve worked with him before, and he’s mouthed off at some of the workers and made some idle threats.” She looked at Nicholas. “I don’t think he’ll give me any trouble, but my supervisor wanted me to take one of you guys along just in case.”

“So what do you need me to do, exactly?” Nicholas asked, a bit nervously.

Savannah didn’t miss the twinge of anxiety in his voice, and she gave him a knowing smile. “This is your first CPS call, isn’t it?”

Nicholas nodded sheepishly.

“Nothing to it, really,” she said reassuringly. “Mostly, you’ll be there for window dressing, to keep him from misbehaving or making threats." She hesitated briefly and lowered her voice before continuing. "Although I might need you to witness a drug screen.”

“Drug screen?” Nicholas repeated. “You mean…..?”

“A urine test,” Savannah confirmed, biting her lip to stifle a grin at the horrified look that had just crossed the new officer’s face, “to keep him from falsifying the results. I can’t exactly witness it directly, since I’m a female.”

“Okay,” Nicholas said halfheartedly. “Let’s go. I’ll follow you.”

Savannah chuckled as she pulled out, with the officer’s car right behind her.

*****

When they arrived at the Roberts residence, Nicholas was immediately on high alert; the man and woman who answered the door were initially hostile and adversarial. He was mildly afraid he would have to be confrontational, or worse, draw his weapon, to protect both himself and the worker.

But Savannah greeted the family with respect and compassion, and Nicholas watched in awe as their attitudes began to soften. She’s good, he marveled silently.

He didn’t have to witness the urine test – thankfully – because Savannah was able to persuade Roberts to admit that he had been misusing his prescriptions. Instead, Nicholas stood quietly in the corner as she implemented safety measures and made referrals to counseling services. Then the two of them left the home.

"Thank you for your help," Savannah said sincerely, once they were out of the family’s earshot.

"You didn't need it," Nicholas praised. “You did a great job in there."

“Thank you,” replied Savannah, blushing slightly. “I’m glad they decided to cooperate. It doesn’t always work out that way, of course.”

Knowing his opportunity to ask her about Gage Peterson was about to slip away, Nicholas suddenly had an idea. “Since I’m new here and all, I do have some more questions about procedures. If you have time to talk to me for a few moments, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

Savannah looked at her watch. “I think I can manage that,” she smiled.

*****

A few moments later, the agent and the social worker were sitting inside a local restaurant, each holding a steaming cup of freshly perked coffee. “So,” Savannah began, “what questions can I answer for you?”

“What makes some home visits go well, and others go badly?” Nicholas began.

“A lot of it depends on the level of cooperation the families are willing to give us,” Savannah responded. “Or the level we are able to elicit from them.”

Nicholas smiled slightly. “I think you had a lot to do with how well things went this afternoon.”

“Having Child Protective Services knock on your door can be a scary thing,” Savannah mused modestly, blushing for the second time at Nicholas' compliment. “I just try to treat families the way I would want a CPS worker to treat me, if the shoe were on the other foot. Sometimes they will work with me, and sometimes they won’t. And if they won’t, then I can deal with that, knowing I have done all I can.”

Nicholas nodded. “For those visits when you have to take law enforcement with you,” he ventured, “do you find they are mostly helpful or mostly hurtful?”

“Again, it depends,” she replied, “on what role they take. Mostly, they are there for support, and it’s very rare when they have to be the heavy. In that role, they are extremely helpful.” Savannah took a sip of coffee and looked at Nicholas, and her brown eyes flashed with contempt. “But some of them go in with both barrels blazing, so to speak. They intimidate the families and get them on the defensive, and that’s usually when the families refuse to work with us.”

“Like Gage Peterson?”

The sudden name drop had been a test, to see what the social worker’s reaction would be. Nicholas was not disappointed. The contempt in her eyes grew more obvious as she let out a disgusted groan.

“He is the worst of the bunch,” she admitted. “Always coming on too strong. Arrogant, macho, and aggressive. Usually ends up in a shouting match with at least one family member.” She looked Nicholas squarely in the eye. “Don’t tell me he’s back from his conference already.”

“No, he's still there, as far as I know," Nicholas answered. "I haven’t met him yet, but I’ve heard stories."

"None of them good, I imagine." Savannah's voice was dripping with contempt. "I always get nervous when I have to call and request an officer to go with me to a home visit. It makes me happy when I find out he's at one of his monthly trainings. I'd honestly rather take my chances by myself than to have him tag along."

Savannah chuckled softly. "I swear," she added. "That many conferences, you’d think he’d learn how to act like a civilized human being.”

Nicholas smiled sadly, recalling Smith's words from earlier that day. “I guess not.”

“No, and when he comes back, he acts even more aggressively,” she reported. "Some of my coworkers and I are starting to get suspicious about how much time he spends away."

"What do you mean?" Nicholas queried.

"I've done this job for nearly a decade, working closely with law enforcement," Savannah answered. "I have never known a lieutenant to go to that much training."

Suddenly, Savannah seemed to have an attack of conscience about revealing this latest detail to her new companion. “Of course, I wouldn't want certain people to know I said anything."

“I won’t say a word,” Nicholas promised, reading her gaze.

Savannah smiled, glanced at her watch, then stood up with a sigh. “I guess I’d better get back to the office before I’m missed. Thanks for the coffee.”

Nicholas followed suit. “You’re welcome. It was good talking to you,” he said sincerely.

“Hopefully, we will get to work together again soon.” Savannah caught Nicholas’ hand in a warm handshake, then the agent and the social worker went their separate ways.

Chapter 4

The rest of the day at police headquarters passed uneventfully. Shannon spent the afternoon returning phone calls and performing mundane filing activities. Nicholas had to endure relentless questioning from his three colleagues about his CPS call. Once he let them know that everything had gone well, Williams had smiled and rewarded him by cutting his training short and allowing him to leave early.

Perhaps the CPS call had been a test — an initiation of sorts. If so, he had passed.

Back at the team’s headquarters that afternoon, Nicholas and Shannon were eager to share what they had learned about Gage Peterson with their colleagues.

"Everyone I spoke with has the same opinion about Peterson and his attitude," Nicholas began, "and it lines up with what we already suspected, including the fact that he never seems to get into trouble for his bad behavior."

"I went through his entire personnel file," advised Shannon, "and I didn't see a single disciplinary writeup."

"There aren't any," confirmed Grant, who had just finished uploading Shannon's photos to his laptop and was now clicking through the pages. "Everything in here makes Peterson seem like a fine upstanding lawman," he added, an air of sarcasm in his tone.

"Not only that, but the precinct apparently continues to pay a lot of money for him to go out of state for some sort of conference every month," Nicholas added. "It seems to be an excessive amount of training, even for lieutenants."

"And it would be hard to justify if Peterson was a discipline problem," observed Max.

"Which makes me wonder if the deputy chief isn't covering for him," Jim pondered, glancing at Nicholas with a questioning look.

The dark-haired agent shrugged. "It's hard to get a good read on him," he admitted. "On one hand, he seems straight-laced and very professional. On the other, he had no trouble sending me out on my own to deal with that Child Protective Services call — and seemed to rather enjoy doing so."

"But you did all right with it, at least," Max reminded him, a hint of pride in his voice.

"The social worker made my job easy," Nicholas smiled modestly. "I think she was probably relieved that I didn't really know what I was doing. At least I wasn't antagonizing the clients. I got the feeling that was her experience with Peterson."

"The guy really sounds like a loose cannon," Max muttered. "I can't wait to meet him."

"Do we know where his training is this week?" Jim asked.

"San Antonio, Texas, according to his calendar," Grant responded.

"Sergeant Smith mentioned San Antonio," Nicholas recalled. "I wonder if it's always there."

Grant punched a few buttons. "Seems like it," he confirmed. "He's got receipts from the same San Antonio hotel for the past twelve months in a row." The Black agent punched a few more buttons, and his brow furrowed.

"That's odd."

"What's odd?" Nicholas demanded.

"I just tried to look up the schedule of events at the hotel, to find out what kind of conference he's attending there." He looked up at his team leader. "There's no itinerary. This hotel doesn't even have a meeting room."

"So it is a front," Jim declared.

"And how much do you want to bet that's where he's getting his firearms?" Grant deduced.

"Maybe even sneaking them across the border," Shannon theorized. "San Antonio is not that far from Mexico, after all."

Jim's features darkened. "Something tells me this is a lot bigger than we thought," he mused, "and that Peterson is even more dangerous. We need to find out what he's doing down there."

From the corner of his eye, the team leader caught a glimpse of Nicholas, whose face had paled slightly. "Nicholas? What is it?" he asked, his mildly anxious tone causing the other three agents to turn their eyes toward their dark-haired teammate.

"I was just remembering something Smith told me about Peterson."

"Which was?" prompted Grant.

"He warned me to stay clear of him." That he 'eats newbies for breakfast.' And that, 'if you get on his bad side, he will bury you, and there's nothing you can do about it.'" Nicholas' voice grew quieter, and his eyes shone with concern for his team. "I wasn't sure how to take it at first, so I kind of blew it off. But I have a feeling we'd all best be careful."

Jim nodded. "I'd say that's good advice."

********

It was only Wednesday, and the team knew that Peterson would likely not head back to New River until at least Friday. So Jim and Grant took a two-hour flight to San Antonio and booked a room at Peterson's hotel late that evening. The others stayed behind — Nicholas and Shannon still had to keep up appearances at the precinct, and Max's services would be needed later on.

Once they had arrived, Grant used his laptop to tap into the hotel's registration records. Lucky for them, Peterson had registered under his own name, and Grant was able to find out his room number: 402.

Grant donned a light brown work uniform, toolbelt, and a backwards baseball cap and headed outside the hotel. Within ten minutes, he had located the box containing all the telephone and security camera circuitry. Within ten more, he had tapped into Peterson's phone line and relayed the fourth floor camera footage to his own computer.

"Now we wait," said Jim.

But they didn't have to wait long.

Peterson caught the call on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Be here at midnight. The usual place," said the gruff male voice on the other end.

"Got it."

And the phone call was over almost before it started.

Grant and Jim looked at one another, almost in disbelief. "Well, that doesn't give us much to go on," Grant noted.

Jim shook his head. "Our only option is to follow him and see where he goes."

Chapter 5

Grant and Jim spent the better part of the evening watching for Gage Peterson to leave for his appointment, for they had no way of knowing how far he would have to drive to get there. At just before 10:45, Grant caught his leader's attention.

"Jim, he's leaving," he said, his voice tense.

Wordlessly, the two agents rose from their chairs, slipped out of their third floor hotel room and down the stairs. They exited the side door and entered two separate vehicles, backed into side by side parking spaces, and waited for Gage Peterson to emerge from the main entrance. They watched him climb into his mid-size sedan and head towards the highway, and a few moments later fell into position behind him.

*******

"Okay, Grant, be safe and keep in touch," Nicholas advised, then he clicked off his communicator.

Max emerged from the makeshift kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, as Nicholas sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

The blond sat down beside his friend, and when he spoke his voice was gentle.

"You should get some sleep, Nicholas," he advised. "Officer Martin has to work tomorrow."

"It will be hard to sleep until I know that Grant and Jim are safe," the dark-haired agent responded.

Worrywart, the blond thought fondly but didn't say. "It'll be well after midnight by then," Max reminded him.

Nicholas shrugged. "No one ever gets much sleep during missions," he said matter-of-factly, trying but failing to stifle a yawn.

Max laid a warm hand on Nicholas' shoulder. "Grant and Jim will be fine," he said reassuringly, "and I know you're tired. Go get some rest, buddy. I'll keep watch."

Nicholas stared at his blond teammate for a long moment, as if prolonging the stare was going to soften Max's resolve.

"Go on," Max repeated, his voice slightly firmer. "That's an order."

Nicholas smiled in spite of himself. "When did you start giving orders?" he teased.

"When you started being stubborn," Max returned with a straight face. "Now go!"

Nicholas sobered. "You'll let me know if there are any developments?"

"I promise."

Nicholas sighed again. "All right," he relented, pausing to give his friend an affectionate shoulder slap before heading to the adjacent room.

*******

Jim and Grant followed Peterson's car at a distance until they reached a large parking lot, abandoned except for one lone vehicle that was sitting with its park lights on. Jim wisely hung back several extra carlengths and turned onto a side road with a distant view of the lot, killing his lights almost instantly. Grant whipped into place beside him and followed suit. The two men used their communicators to speak, not daring to roll their windows down for fear of being overheard.

Jim held his field glasses with one hand and keyed his communicator with the other. He watched Peterson open the trunk of the other car, look inside briefly, and close it again, but from his vantage point could not tell what kind of cargo was inside.

"The other car has a Texas registration," he told Grant, "and it's nearly identical to Peterson's. Matter of fact, the tags are just one digit off. The last one."

"Really?" answered Grant. "I'll bet that's no coincidence."

For a moment, the two men glanced up toward the agents, and Grant used his telephoto camera to snap a quick picture. He wasn't nearly close enough to distinguish the stranger's features, of course, but he had the equipment back at his hotel room to magnify the image.

"They're switching cars," advised Jim, as the two men prepared to drive away.

"Make sure Peterson makes it back to the hotel with his cargo," Grant urged. "I'll follow his friend and see where he ends up."

"Are you sure? It could be a long drive. I'll handle it if you want me to."

"I've got this, Jim," Grant insisted.

"All right," Jim responded, "but be careful."

"Will do."

Jim watched as Peterson drove by him, headed back toward San Antonio. He waited several seconds before pulling out behind him. He glanced in his rear view mirror, watching as Grant pulled out and headed the opposite direction in pursuit of Peterson's mysterious contact.

Jim was less than ten miles from the hotel when his communicator buzzed.

"Yeah, Grant?" he answered instantly.

"Peterson's buddy pulled into a garage just this side of the Mexican border," he reported. "I got the address."

"Good work," Jim praised, with a slight sigh of relief that his teammate was safe. "We're almost back at the hotel."

"I'm still a hundred and fifty miles out," returned Grant, trying in vain to stifle a yawn.

Jim glanced at his watch. It was already after one in the morning. It would be three-thirty before Grant made it back to the hotel.

"Are you gonna be okay to drive that far?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, knowing there wasn't anything he could do regardless of the answer and wishing once again that the younger agent had let him make the longer trip.

"I'll be fine, Jim," Grant reassured him.

"I'll see if I can find out what's in Peterson's trunk," Jim promised.

"If it is illegal weapons, Jim," said Grant, his voice tense, "we have to make sure they're disarmed before they make it back to New River."

"I'll take care of it," the elder agent assured his friend. "Just get back here safely."

A few moments later, Jim watched Peterson pull into the hotel parking lot. Jim pulled into the adjacent parking area, so as not to arouse suspicion, and waited until Peterson locked up his vehicle and entered the building. Jim knew from the hotel schematics that Peterson's room — 402 — was the first room on the left side of the building. He watched as the light came on, then a few minutes later went back off again. Then he slowly pulled into the parking lot and parked beside Peterson's sedan.

Jim looked around to make sure there was nobody else in the parking lot, then he carefully exited his car, with Grant's unlocking tool in hand. He positioned the metal cylinder over the round trunk latch, then pushed a button, and seconds later the trunk popped open. Inside lay at least two dozen long guns and rifles. Quickly, Jim extracted the small soldering tool from the large pocket of his suit coat. One by one, he picked up each weapon, pulled back the charging handle, and zapped the internal mechanism with the soldering tool before returning the handle to its position, rendering each weapon useless.

Jim eased the trunk closed and then used his key card to enter the hotel through the side door. He had barely made it to his room and closed the door behind him when he heard a familiar voice coming from his communicator.

"Jim."

"Yeah, Max?"

"Just checking in on you and Grant," said the blond.

"I'm at the hotel, and Peterson has a trunk full of useless weapons," Jim advised with a small chuckle. "Grant is on his way back, but he won't be here for another couple of hours." A slight pause. "How are things there?"

"We're fine. Nicholas and Shannon are asleep. I was waiting to hear from you guys."

"You should get some sleep, too, Max. I'm sure Grant will be okay."

"Just signal me when he gets in, all right?" Max pleaded.

Jim smiled faintly and clicked off the communicator without replying, but when Grant arrived a little less than two hours later, a telltale beep told Max that his teammate was safe and he could finally get some rest.

Chapter 6

Thursday was largely uneventful. Nicholas and Shannon went back to work at the precinct, while Max monitored things from headquarters. Grant and Jim, still in San Antonio, took turns keeping Peterson under surveillance.

"Let's run this photo of Peterson and his arms-dealing friend through the IMF database and see what comes up," Grant suggested, as he set the telephoto camera on its dock and pushed a button. Once the picture displayed on the screen, he pressed another button to start the scan. Less than a minute later, the laptop emitted a small beep.

Jim looked over Grant's shoulder. "Jorge Villardes," he read. "A major player in the illegal weapons trade. Known connections to Mexico. The ATF has been looking for this guy for months. They haven't been able to figure out how he distributes his contraband."

Grant, playing a hunch, ran the plate numbers that Jim had copied down during their surveillance. Then he whistled softly. "I think we just figured that out for them. There are two dozen plates, including these, registered to the same corporation, numbered consecutively."

"I think a call to the ATF is in order," Jim said with a half-smile. "It may not be enough to implicate Peterson, but at least it will close his illegal arms pipeline."

*******

Nicholas and Fairbanks went out on a handful of routine calls, but there was nothing particularly notable about the day until the dark-haired agent was getting ready to leave.

As he passed by Williams' office, the deputy chief called his name.

"You're on night shift tomorrow," he advised. "Clock in at six-thirty."

"Night shift?" Nicholas repeated.

"Everyone takes a turn working nights," Williams shrugged. "Tomorrow, it's yours. Don't be late." And he sent Nicholas away without another word.

********

Friday morning found Gage Peterson up at the crack of dawn, preparing for the ten-hour drive back to New River with his now-useless weapons in tow. Before departing, however, he placed a call to Deputy Chief Williams, as Grant and Jim listened in.

"I'm about to head that way," Peterson advised. "What's going on there?"

"I hired a new partner for Fairbanks," Williams reported.

"Oh? What's he like?"

"Nice enough fellow. Seems to catch on quick."

"I can't wait to meet him," Peterson said, his smirk almost audible.

"You'll get your chance tomorrow," Williams assured him. "He's on nights starting tonight."

"All right. Gotta go."

"Call me when you get in," Williams ordered, and the connection was broken.

*******

Max kept in close contact with Grant and Jim as they tailed Peterson's navy blue sedan back towards New River. Nicholas listened in for a few hours before Max insisted he go rest up for his upcoming night shift at the precinct.

At just after five in the evening, Peterson turned onto a narrow two-lane road on the outskirts of New River. It was much less busy than the interstate highway they had just left --and the miles of open farmland made it much more difficult to hide.

"Careful, Grant," Jim warned. "Maybe hang back a little farther. Don't let him spot you."

The Black agent nodded and followed his leader's advice. Within a few moments, the lieutenant whipped into a long driveway with a solitary small structure at the end of it.

There was nowhere for the agents to go without being seen as suspicious, so they drove past him and into the adjacent driveway, where they parked behind a row of hedges. Jim climbed out of the passenger seat and aimed his binoculars through a tiny crack in the shrubbery. Peterson had opened the trunk and was adding its contents to what was already inside the storage building. Jim gave a low whistle.

"Is that the weapons?" Grant whispered.

Jim nodded. "It's a massive collection — and that's just what I can see." The elder agent took down his field glasses and looked at his teammate. His gaze was troubled. "There's enough firepower there to shoot up half the city. And it would be nearly impossible to disable them all."

"Which means we have to stop the Backwoods Patriots before they get a chance to use them," Grant finished somberly.

Jim nodded, taking the telephoto camera from Grant's hands and discreetly snapping some photos of the lieutenant and the weapons cache.

"These pictures will help build our case against Peterson," Grant reasoned, "but we'll need more evidence."

"I'm hoping Nicholas and Max can help with that," Jim answered, as they got back into their SUV and headed back toward headquarters.

*******

At twenty minutes after six, Nicholas walked into the New River Police Department and paused at the slightly open door of Deputy Chief Williams' office. He listened intently to the two voices coming from within — one he recognized as his superior officer, the other he did not know.

"How are you going to work a night shift after just driving ten hours to get back here?" Williams was asking. "A man's gotta sleep sometime."

Nicholas felt a twinge of nerves as he realized that he was about to come face to fsce with the infamous Gage Peterson.

"Chill out, Williams," the lieutenant returned. "I'll be fine. I just couldn't wait to meet the new recruit and see what he's like."

"Well, make sure you behave yourself," Williams admonished, in a manner that seemed superficial but, Nicholas suspected, held a much deeper significance.

As Peterson began to shuffle in his seat, the dark-haired agent decided to give a quick knock on the door before the men realized he'd been eavesdropping.

Williams looked up. "Come on in, Martin," he called, accentuating his instruction with a quick hand wave. "I want you to meet someone. This is—"

"Lieutenant Gage Peterson, at your service," he boomed, standing up and catching Nicholas' hand in an almost-too-tight grip before Williams had the chance to continue. "You must be Nicholas Martin."

Nicholas forced a smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Peterson," he responded. As the lieutenant released his hand, he looked askance at the deputy chief.

"Where's Fairbanks?" he asked, referring to his new partner.

"He's got the night off," Peterson answered in his leader's place, giving Nicholas a back slap that, like his handshake, was a little too hard. "You're riding with me tonight."

Once again, the agent forced a smile. "Sounds good," he said, feigning enthusiasm. "Just let me get changed and we'll head out."

Nicholas disappeared into the men's room and changed clothes in a hurry. After making sure he was still alone, he dug his communicator out of its hiding place and pushed the button.

"Jim, I'm riding with Peterson," he whispered succinctly.

Jim and Grant exchanged surprised, speechless glances. Max, who was also listening in, pushed the button on his own communicator.

"Watch your back, Nicholas," he warned, his voice low, "and keep us posted."

"I will. Gotta go."

Then Nicholas broke the connection and exited the men's room, where Peterson was waiting for him. They climbed into Peterson's patrol car and took off with the lieutenant at the wheel.

Chapter 7

The first incident of the evening was a traffic stop. A light-colored compact car ran a red light, then led the officers on a high-speed chase through a residential neighborhood where he nearly sideswiped several cars. Once the car finally stopped, Nicholas grabbed his ticket book and started to get out of the patrol car.

"Sit still," Peterson ordered, pointing his finger toward the agent. "I'll handle this."

"We're supposed to be handling it together," Nicholas reminded him.

"Do as you're told, recruit, or you'll wish you had," Peterson growled, and there was an edginess to his tone that sent a chill up Nicholas' spine.

Seething with anger, Nicholas wanted nothing more than to meet the corrupt lieutenant's challenge. But he was mindful of the warnings he'd received about Peterson from Max and others, and that no one was around to help him if things went south. So instead he took a deep breath and allowed his wrath to settle.

He watched as Peterson, without his ticket book, casually walked up to the driver's door — disregarding all the safety protocols he had reviewed this week — and struck up a friendly conversation with the driver. Must be someone he knows, Nicholas thought to himself. Maybe even a Backwoods Patriot.

Seeing an opportunity, he dug his communicator out of its hiding place and discreetly clicked it on.

"Jim."

"Nicholas, how's it going?"

"Peterson's a ticking time bomb," the agent replied, and his team leader could hear the tension in his voice.

"Just try not to stir him up, pal," Grant urged. "Max is out putting some bugs in place. Hopefully they will give us the information we need."

Nicholas nodded, even though his teammates couldn't see him. "Gotta go." Then he clicked the button and returned the communicator to its hiding place.

"I wish we'd have thought to plant a camera on Nicholas," the Black agent lamented. "I have a really bad feeling about Gage Peterson."

*******

After several moments of talking and laughing, Peterson slapped the driver's door twice and waved as the compact sped away.

Peterson slid back into the driver's seat and immediately the wide grin on his face faded. Nicholas waited a few seconds for the lieutenant to say something about the just-completed stop, but he did not. Finally, the dark-haired agent could stand it no longer.

"That driver broke a bunch of traffic laws," he observed quietly, "and you let him off with a warning?"

In one quick motion, Peterson reached across the console with his right hand to grab Nicholas' collar and shove him up against the seat with surprising force.

"Get something straight, rookie," he seethed, his teeth clenched. "This is my show. I call the shots. Your job is to sit there and do what you're told, and as long as you do that I'll let you keep breathing. You got it?"

Nicholas noted a slight constriction in his airway from where Peterson had him pinned, but so stunned was he by the sudden movement that it didn't occur to him to offer up any sort of defense. Instead, he nodded wordlessly and felt the pressure suddenly give way.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Peterson grinned, slapping Nicholas' shoulder hard as the agent focused on reregulating his breathing. Then he put the cruiser in gear and resumed patrol as if nothing had happened.

*******

Once the team knew that Peterson was working and would be away from home, Max used the address Shannon had provided to locate his residence. Within just a few moments, he had tapped into Peterson's phone line.

Next, Max took a trip to the precinct, donning a baseball cap and a name badge which identified him as a maintenance contractor. He gathered his supplies and entered the building, stopping first at the office of Deputy Chief Williams.

Williams looked up from his paperwork in response to Max's knock.

"Can I help you?"

"Cleaning crew," Max responded, handing over the clipboard.

Williams' eyes moved from Max to the clipboard and back again. "You're not our usual guy. And Fred never comes this late."

"Short staffed this week," Max ad-libbed. "I usually work the other side of town, so I had to work you in."

Williams paused as if letting the information settle, then shrugged and signed the invoice. He handed the clipboard back to Max, who tossed out a stiff "Thank you" and got to work.

*******

The silence between Nicholas and Peterson that had lasted for the past hour was suddenly interrupted by a call from dispatch.

"CPS on-call is requesting an officer response. Possible domestic situation. Small child present in the home."

The dispatcher rattled off the address, which was less than five miles from where Peterson and Nicholas were now cruising the highway. Peterson grabbed the radio and accepted the call, then turned on his lights and siren and headed toward the location.

As he and Peterson pulled into the long driveway, Nicholas spotted a white SUV with government tags already parked there. The driver's door opened, and a familiar figure emerged.

Savannah Marshall.

In the time it took Nicholas to reach for his car door, Gage Peterson had already exited the cruiser and was halfway to the front door of the residence. Savannah rushed to keep up with him.

I'm pretty sure Child Protective Services is supposed to take the lead on this, not the other way around, Nicholas mused bitterly, as he also hurried to catch up.

The male resident of the home was standing with the door ajar, peering out, with a look of confusion on his face.

"What is this?" he grunted.

"Mister Miller!" Savannah called as she ran, determined her introduction would arrive before Gage Peterson did. "I'm with Child Protective Services. We need to speak with you-"

"You're not coming in my house," Miller vowed. "I have rights!"

"Like hell you do!" retorted Peterson, and he grabbed Miller's throat with one hand.

"Lieutenant, stop!" Savannah yelled, throwing down her clipboard and reaching for Peterson's free arm.

In response, the corrupt officer jerked his arm backward, knocking Savannah off balance. She fell onto the sidewalk, catching herself with her hands, about the time that Nicholas reached the door.

The dark-haired agent cast a lightning-quick glance at Savannah before turning his full attention to his partner.

"That's enough, Peterson!" he bellowed, his voice raspy, as he pinned the lieutenant's free arm behind him with one hand and grabbed his other arm with the other. "Let go!"

Peterson tried to shrug off Nicholas' grasp, but the latter's anger-fueled grip was firm despite the three-inch height difference. Suddenly, Peterson let go of his adversary with a hard shove that sent Miller crashing to the floor, banging the back of his head on the hardwood with a sickening crack. He lay still. Nicholas, shocked by what he had just witnessed, released his partner.

"Now see what you did?" Peterson asked condescendingly, just as a woman presumed to be Miller's significant other came into view. She saw Miller lying unconscious on the floor and screamed.

"See what this officer did?" the lieutenant asked her, pointing. "I'd better call for backup and an ambulance." And quickly he headed for his police car.

Chapter 8

Max had barely been at the precinct ten minutes when the ringing of Williams' desk phone startled them both.

"Williams here," he answered.

There was silence for a few seconds, then the deputy chief swore loudly. "What in the hell were you thinking, Peterson?" he demanded. Then he sighed heavily. "I'll take care of it."

Williams hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and his car keys, and rushed out without another word.

Max stared after him for a moment, his feelings caught somewhere between relief and apprehension. With Williams gone and the area deserted, it would be much easier to plant the devices Grant had sent. But Max couldn't help but be concerned about his undercover teammate.

He dug out his communicator. "Jim."

"What is it, Max?"

"Williams just got a call from Peterson and then took off like a bat out of hell," the blond advised. "Sounds like trouble. Have you heard from Nicholas?"

"Not lately," Jim confirmed, with a nervous glance at Grant. "We'll keep you posted."

Max clicked off his communicator and put it back in his pocket, then he tried to focus on finishing his work.

*******

The woman of the house was alternating between sobbing and hurling obscenities at Nicholas. The latter did his best to ignore both her and the rapidly spreading pool of blood as he knelt beside the injured stranger and checked his vital signs.

"You stay away from him!" she yelled.

"He didn't do this, Mrs. Miller," answered Savannah, her voice barely audible, as she stepped through the door and knelt beside Nicholas. "How's he doing?"

"Not good," Nicholas said quietly. "Somebody needs to call an ambulance."

As if on cue, the sound of sirens appeared in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. "Sounds like somebody already did," Savannah responded.

As the ambulance pulled into the driveway and the paramedics made their way to Mr. Miller's side, Nicholas and Savannah stood up to move out of their way. The dark-haired agent watched the social worker stumble slightly, wincing as she caught herself. He reached out a hand to steady her, suddenly remembering her fall at Peterson's hand moments before.

"Are you all right?" he asked quickly.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she answered, her voice warm but with a hint of frustration. "I'll be bruised up in the morning, I'm sure." Her brown eyes narrowed as she gazed at her companion. "I'm just irritated. Thanks to Peterson, this whole investigation is going to be ten times harder and more complicated than it would have had to be. If Mister Miller even makes it."

Nicholas nodded his understanding, suddenly feeling so badly for his new colleague that he couldn't resist planting a tiny seed of hope. "Savannah," he said impulsively, "I want you to know that there are measures being put into place that will hopefully stop Gage Peterson for good. I'm afraid that's all I can say right now."

The brunette raised an eyebrow but didn't ask any more questions, knowing he probably couldn't answer them anyway. Instead she tossed him a thin smile. "That makes me happy," she responded. "If there's anything I can do to help with that, you know where to find me."

Nicholas nodded again as the paramedics walked by them at a fast clip, with Miller on a stretcher and his wife and child behind them.

"I guess I'll finish things up at the hospital," she said, as she got into her company car.

"Do you need me to go with you?" Nicholas asked, noticing for the first time that neither Peterson nor the cruiser were in the driveway.

Savannah started to shake her head no, while at the same time not wishing to leave her new friend stranded at the Miller home. But then, as if on cue, a New River Police Department vehicle with a slightly different paint job whipped into the driveway. Behind the wheel was Deputy Chief Williams.

"Martin! You're coming with me!" he said sternly.

Nicholas nodded goodbye to the kind social worker and climbed into the passenger seat beside Williams.

*******

"Thanks for coming to get me," Nicholas was saying. "I don't know where Peterson went. I guess he didn't want to stick around and face the consequences of his actions."

The deputy chief's mouth drew into a taut line. "I've already spoken to the lieutenant," he advised coolly. "He told me what happened."

"Good," Nicholas responded. "So what happens now? Suspension? Termination? Criminal charges?"

"It could be any of the three," Williams answered, "depending on how much accountability you're willing to accept."

"Me?" Nicholas echoed incredulously. "I didn't do anything, other than try to stop him!"

"That's not how he tells it."

Nicholas' stomach came up in his throat as the weight of Peterson's accusations sunk in.

"But, sir, I didn't do this. You have to believe me!"

"Save it, Martin," ordered the senior official. "We'll talk at the precinct."

*******

While Grant chose an early bedtime due to all the driving he'd done over the past two days, Jim and Shannon were monitoring the signals from the equipment Max had installed. The blond agent arrived back at headquarters just as the bug in the deputy chief's office picked up two distinct voices. Jim put a finger to his lips and the trio listened intently.

*******

"I'm telling you, that's what happened," Nicholas was saying, once he and Williams were back in the deputy chief's office at the precinct. "Peterson put his hand around the guy's throat, then threw him down on the floor when I tried to intervene."

"Well, according to Peterson, it was the other way around," Williams answered calmly. "And he left because he was afraid you'd go after him, too."

"That's ridiculous!" Nicholas exclaimed. Then, as if just remembering, he added, "Savannah Marshall was also there. Peterson knocked her down on the sidewalk. If you don't believe me, ask her!"

Williams looked at the dark-haired agent, all trace of cordiality now gone from his face and voice. "I'm sure your new friend from CPS would happily confirm your story," he sneered, "even though the victim's wife's statement is consistent with Peterson's."

Nicholas, now seething with anger, stood up quickly, the veins popping in his neck. "So you're going to disregard an actual witness, and believe someone who wasn't even in the room when it happened, who only believes what Peterson told her."

Just then, Williams' telephone rang, and he scooped it up hastily. "Williams here," he grunted, in a tone that reflected his displeasure at being interrupted. Then his features sobered slightly. "I see. Thanks for letting me know."

The deputy chief hung up the phone, stood up, and began walking toward Nicholas. Before the agent could process what was happening, Williams grabbed Nicholas' left arm and pinned it behind his back. Then he whipped out a pair of handcuffs from somewhere, snapped one cuff onto Nicholas' wrist, and quickly followed suit with the left arm.

"What's going on?" the confused agent demanded.

"You're under arrest for murder," Williams answered flatly. "Brett Miller just died."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, Nicholas' feelings were a confused mess of sorrow, anger, and fear.

"I didn't do this!" he exclaimed. "I'm telling you, I didn't do it!"

Nicholas tried to resist, but Williams tightened his grip to the point where it was almost painful. He calmly began to read the agent his rights as he guided him outside and into the back of his cruiser. Nicholas' anger burned, but he stopped protesting and remained tight-lipped as they drove the four blocks down the road to the county lockup.

Chapter 9

Max let out a loud curse and began to pace. "They can't do this!" he said angrily. "We have to get him out of there!"

Jim stood up and laid a comforting hand on Max's shoulder. "Settle down, Max," he soothed. "We will, in due time."

"But, Jim, they think he killed a man!" Max protested, his tone a mixture of wrath and fear. "How are we going to clear his name?"

"We can't take our eyes off the original mission, Max," Jim said calmly. "I have a feeling that when Peterson goes down, there'll be a lot of people going down with him, including the deputy chief, and the truth will come out."

He paused, waiting until Max's eyes met his. "I know you're angry and you're worried about Nicholas," he continued softly, "but we need you to focus and help us finish this. Can you do that?"

Max waited for a moment before speaking, sighing heavily as he composed himself. Yes, he can do this.  He can help make the bastard pay for what he's done.

"It'll be my pleasure," he finally answered.

*******

It was just after ten p.m. Grant, who had rested for the past four hours, awoke and was briefed on everything that had happened while he'd been napping. As far as they could tell, Deputy Chief Williams had not returned to his office after leaving with Nicholas, and the team wasn't sure what time he or Peterson would report back in. So, since it was late, it was decided that they would take turns monitoring the listening devices round the clock, with Grant taking first watch while the others tried to sleep.

They all felt compelled to go visit Nicholas, even at this late hour, but everyone except Max ran the risk of being recognized by Peterson. Max, for his part, would be meeting the corrupt policeman later, and being seen with Nicholas beforehand would undermine the integrity of the mission. So they planned to wait until they were sure of Peterson's whereabouts before going to the jail, though it bothered all of them.

It was mid-afternoon on Saturday when Shannon caught the sound of someone entering the deputy chief's office. Though the occasional rustle of papers could be heard, the person presumed to be Williams didn't speak or make any phone calls for almost an hour.

All four teammates were listening when the office door closed, and the now-familiar voice of Gage Peterson boomed across the speaker.

"I assume you took care of our little problem."

"'Little problem'?" Williams repeated. "You killed someone, for heaven's sake! And for no reason! Does that not bother you?"

Grant quickly rose from his chair and headed for the jail to visit with Nicholas, knowing that Peterson was currently accounted for and that he wasn't likely to run into him there.

"Not if they can't prove I did it," Peterson shrugged. "That rookie cop will make a great patsy."

Max bit his lip and he face turned red, but he said nothing as he continued to listen.

"You really ought to think about reining it in a little, Peterson. It's getting harder and harder to cover for you."

"But you will continue to do it, won't you, Williams?" Peterson sneered. "And you know why. But don't worry. It won't be for much longer. Come Monday evening, the Backwoods Patriots will have full control of every major powerhouse in New River. And then we can do whatever the hell we want."4

"I'd still like to know how you plan on pulling it off," said Williams. "That meeting is closed to the public. Obviously as deputy chief I can get you in, but nobody else will be authorized. Just law enforcement and regional leadership. And you know how tight security will be at the government building. You have some important people on your team, Peterson, but not enough for a coup."

"Don't worry," Peterson said menacingly. "With the kind of entrance we're planning, we won't need anybody's permission."

*******

Grant parked in front of the regional jail. He sighed heavily, bracing himself for the upcoming encounter, and then got out of the SUV. He showed his identification to a security guard and asked to see Nicholas Martin. The guard stared at Grant's identification for a long moment, then shrugged and guided the Black agent to a small booth.

It wasn't much bigger than a bathroom stall, with a bolted-down stool and a telephone on both sides of a bulletproof glass window. Grant sat down on the stool and waited. A few moments later, the door on the other side of the window opened, and Nicholas shuffled in.

Grant sucked in his breath. He hardly recognized his friend.

Nicholas was wearing a mustard yellow prison uniform, the shackles on his ankles rattling as he walked. His hands were also cuffed together in front of him, linked to his waist by a longer chain. His hair was mussed, and his face was pale.

The dark-haired agent sat down on the other stool, picked up the telephone receiver, and held it to his ear with both hands as Grant did likewise.

"Hey there, pal," Grant said softly.

Nicholas managed a slight smile. "I was wondering if you guys knew where I was," he said, matching his friend's tone. "I was afraid you had forgotten about me."

"Not a chance," Grant assured him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

Grant raised an eyebrow and glared at his teammate, in an unspoken demand for the truth. Nicholas sighed heavily.

"It's been horrible," he answered honestly, and he shuddered as the memories of the past eighteen hours came flooding back into his memory.

*******

As soon as Nicholas arrived at the county lockup, the jailers removed all of his law enforcement gear and tossed him into a cold holding cell. Shortly thereafter, they forced him to take part in an embarrassing strip search and then dressed him in this ridiculous yellow jumpsuit. Then they bound his wrists and ankles with the metal cuffs and heavy chains that were almost always required hardware for being out in the cell block.

Finally, it seemed, his cell was ready.

"Come on, Martin, let's go," urged the jailer.

As Nicholas shuffled down the block, nearly tripping over his feet once or twice, the prisoners in the other cells peered out their bars to see the newest inmate. There were many catcalls and whistles in addition to the obscenity-laden comments:

"Damn, you an ugly $&$*#&$,#,!"

"Nah, man, he's a pretty boy!"

"Well, you know what happens to pretty boys in prison…"

"Yeah, man, he'll be a fun one to play with!"

And, the one time he dared to look up to see where the insult had come from,

"What the fuck you looking at, boy?"

Once he got to his cell, the jailers practically threw him inside. He wasn't thrilled about being there, but at least he was immune to all of the noise except from the inmates right across the block — one of whom made frequent, sexually suggestive comments, and the other, who just stared menacingly at him all day.

Meals — such as they were — were consumed in the cells: stale bread, flavorless vegetables, some type of meat that either seemed tough enough to break teeth or rubbery enough to bounce across the floor. The coffee was also served in extremes — so weak you could practically read through it, or so strong that the bitterness of it burned his throat all the way down.

Unlike mealtimes, the showers were communal, with no curtains, no privacy, and guards standing nearby to prevent indecent activities. What they didn't prevent, though — and didn't seem to try — were the insulting comments the inmates hurled at one another about their respective anatomy.

The worst part was the yard, where the prisoners spent their one hour of required daily recreation. Nicholas kept to himself while trying not to be seen as weak, for he knew that was the worst thing that someone in jail could do. Still, he was not able to dodge everyone's unwelcome attention.

One African-American inmate, who was close to double Grant's size, took Nicholas aside almost as soon as they'd entered the yard. He held the agent's jumpsuit firmly by the shoulder with one hand, while poking his chest with the other.

"I run this yard, newbie. Forget that, and there will be trouble. Understand?"

Nicholas swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, the big man let go of his shoulder and went on his way.

Another inmate in the yard kept spitting on Nicholas every time he passed by him. Nicholas tried unsuccessfully to stay away from him, hanging inconspicuously off to one corner of the yard. Suddenly, he felt rather than heard someone sneak up behind him and grab a large handful of the agent's backside.

Nicholas stiffened, as the voice in his ear remarked, "What a tasty little treat you would make!"

"Get away from me!" Nicholas roared, in the toughest voice he could muster, and he ran toward the guards — who, to his dismay, were laughing at his plight along with several of the inmates.

Nicholas counted down the minutes until the merciful blowing of the whistle told him that it was time to go back to his cell. Even the lonely six by eight foot box was better than this.

I don't belong here, he thought to himself. I'm innocent. The hypocrisy of the situation grated at him. How many times had he heard someone say these very words? How many times had he actually believed them? And why should he expect anyone — other than his team — to believe him now?

*******

"I've been strip-searched, catcalled, hit on, spit on, ridiculed and treated like…. well, like a common criminal," Nicholas muttered. "I feel terrible for that poor man and his family, but I don't belong here." His voice trailed off for a moment. "And I'm scared of being stuck here for the next thirty years."

"That's not gonna happen, partner," Grant said confidently, his voice gentle. He glanced wordlessly at the small camera mounted in the ceiling. Nicholas followed his eyes, then nodded slightly. "When everything is said and done, there'll be more than enough to clear your name. You just have to trust us. We should only need another day or two."

Nicholas couldn't quite hide the disappointment in his eyes, realizing that he would have to stay put until the success of the original mission was assured. But he had accepted years ago that the mission would always come first. And in this case, if it meant that Gage Peterson would never again hurt another soul, well, he guessed it was worth it.

So he nodded bravely. "I understand."

"We'll get you out of here as soon as we can, I promise," Grant assured him. "I'm sorry I can't stay longer, but duty calls." He gazed solemnly at his friend, his eyes slightly moist. "Just try to hang tough, all right? I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Grant," Nicholas answered, forcing a smile. "Tell everyone hello for me."

"I will." Grant stared at him for one more long moment before hanging up the phone. God, he hated to leave him here! He watched Nicholas do the same, then shuffle back through the door, before sadly taking his leave.

Chapter 10

Jim, Max, and Shannon listened to the two corrupt policemen make small talk for a while longer. Finally, they heard a slight shuffle before Peterson spoke.

"Well, I'm going to get ready for the night shift," he said breezily.

"Do me a favor, will you, and stay out of trouble this time?"

"No promises," he sneered, and the team heard the sound of the door opening and then closing again.

Jim grabbed his communicator. "Grant, the powwow just ended."

"I'm already clear, Jim," Grant assured him. "I'm headed back."

"How's Nicholas?" Max asked quickly.

Grant sighed. "Not great," he admitted somberly, "but he's hanging in there."

*******

"That little conversation we got on tape between Williams and Peterson was very revealing," said Jim, once Grant had returned to headquarters. "We know that the Patriots are planning a move on Monday evening, at some sort of closed meeting of power brokers at the government building."

"We know that Williams has been covering for Peterson," offered Shannon, "and it sounds like blackmail. I wonder what he has on the deputy chief that would cause him to put his career at risk."

"I wonder how many people he does have dirt on," added Grant.

"We can also prove that the two of them framed Nicholas," growled Max, his wrath barely concealed.

Jim nodded. "We certainly have more than enough to send both Williams and Peterson away for a long time. But if we act now, I'm afraid that the Patriots will just reorganize with a new leader and continue to cause trouble. We have to take them all down together."

Jim turned to his blond teammate. "The next move is yours, Max," he said with a half-smile.

"Don't worry, Jim," the younger agent said reassuringly. "I've got this."

"I know," the team leader affirmed fondly. "You'd better rest up while Peterson is working."

Max nodded. "I'll catch him first thing in the morning."

*******

At seven o'clock the next morning, an exhausted Gage Peterson pulled into his driveway, surprised to find a navy blue SUV already there waiting for him.

Cautiously, he got out of his personal vehicle with his service weapon drawn. At the same time, Max, wearing a crisp black silk suit, stepped out of the SUV.

"Who the hell are you?" Peterson demanded by way of greetIng, pointing his weapon at Max.

"Lieutenant Peterson, I presume," answered Max, unfazed by the weapon, a huge grin ln his lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'll drop you right here," threatened Peterson.

"Now, now, there's no need for all of that," soothed Max, nodding toward the gun. "Put that away, and I'll answer all your questions."

Taken aback by the blond's cool demeanor, the lieutenant holstered his weapon and then looked at Max expectantly.

Max extended his hand. "My name is Tommy Hartman. I'm the head of security at the New River Government Center."

The lieutenant's face colored for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "Is that supposed to mean something?" he asked.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what it means, Lieutenant."

"What makes you so sure?"

Max's voice dropped half an octave in pitch as he grew serious. "Because I know everything about you," he responded.

The coldness in Max's voice sent a chill up Peterson's spine. "And just what is it that you think you know?"

Max grinned widely. "I know that you and your Backwoods Patriots have big plans for tomorrow night," he said teasingly.

"How do you know that?" Peterson demanded, without realizing he'd all but admitted the truth.

"Now, you know a real security man never reveals his informants," Max said, with a wave of his hand. "How I know doesn't matter. What matters is how I can help you."

Peterson looked at Max, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken query.

"The meeting is closed to the public. But I can get you in the door."

Peterson smirked. "If I did want to attend this meeting — and I'm not saying I do — I'm sure my deputy chief could get me in."

Max threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Oh, yes, Deputy Chief Williams, the one who's in your pocket like your other Patriot friends, who cleans up all your messes for you. Even going so far as to cover up murders and frame innocent people on your behalf."

Peterson's face turned red and once again he drew his service weapon and pointed it at Max, pulling back the hammer. "You've got a big mouth, Mister Hartman," he growled. "Maybe I ought to shut it for you, permanently."

"Go ahead," Max shrugged. "You might get rid of me, but you don't know how many friends I might have waiting in the wings."

Peterson considered for a moment that the blond security guard could be bluffing, but ultimately decided he wasn't the type. He reholstered the pistol a second time. "Of course you wouldn't work alone."

"The smart ones never do," he grinned. "Now, let's get back to how I can help you, shall we? I mean, your deputy chief may be able to get you inside, but I can get you a seat at the VIP table, up close and personal with all of the power brokers. And I can make sure your friends and all their… accessories… can get in without raising a fuss. Williams can't do that, now, can he?"

Peterson could not hide his excitement at the thought of how effortless the takeover would be under these conditions. "And what's in it for you?" he demanded.

"You're going to be a wealthy, powerful man soon, Lieutenant," Max answered, "and I'd love for you to share some of that wealth and power with me."

Peterson frowned. "Maybe you're just trying to set me up, and I should just walk away right here."

"I don't think you can afford to do that, Lieutenant," countered Max, with a wide grin.

"And why is that?"

Suddenly, all trace of cordiality drained from Max's face. "Because if you do, my friends and I will put a stop to your little plan and go to the higher authorities with everything we know."

Max pulled out a tiny cassette recorder and pushed play, and Peterson's face lost all color as he listened to the words.

"You killed someone, for heaven's sake! And for no reason! Does that not bother you?"

"Not if they can't prove I did it. That rookie cop will make a great patsy."

"You really ought to think about reining it in a little, Peterson. It's getting harder and harder to cover for you."

"That's enough," Peterson interrupted, and Max switched off the tape. Then the lieutenant extended his right hand. "Looks like you've got yourself a deal."

Max returned the handshake and the sideways grin returned to his face.

"Good. Now here are your instructions. Make sure you listen carefully. There are no weapons allowed other than building security, so you won't be able to wear your service weapon. Come no earlier than five forty-five, through the main entrance. There's a metal detector."

At Peterson's raised eyebrow, he continued. "The meeting will start at six. Tell your friends to be at the west entrance at six oh five. I'll make sure it's unlocked and unguarded, so they can bypass the detector. And once the fun starts, I'll give you this so you can join in."

The blond reached into the inside pocket of his suitcoat and pulled out a shiny silver pistol, showing it briefly before putting it back in its hiding place.

"I'll see you tomorrow, partner."

And with that, the blond agent climbed into his SUV and tore out of Peterson's driveway.

Chapter 11

Max only drove a short distance before finding a row of trees where he could remain hidden while keeping watch on Peterson. He clicked on his communicator.

"Jim."

"Max, how'd it go?"

"I made him an offer he couldn't refuse," the blond agent quipped.

Jim smiled. "Good. Keep an eye on him. He's bound to contact his cronies sooner or later to finalize his plans."

"Yeah, will do."

*******

Early that afternoon, after a few hours' sleep, Gage Peterson picked up the phone. Jim, Grant, and Shannon listened as he exchanged a few words with someone on the other end of the line, then hung up.

Jim clicked on his communicator.

"Max, it sounds like Peterson's about to leave for a meeting with the Patriots."

"Roger, Jim," Max replied, as he watched the lieutenant get into his car and head west. "I've got him in sight."

"We'll be monitoring."

After a few moments, Peterson arrived at a parking lot where a dozen other vehicles were waiting. Max concealed his SUV and took out the boom microphone that Grant had recently retooled to pick up conversations across long distances. He aimed it directly at Peterson. Though he could only pick up muffled voices, he trusted that his team could make out what was being said.

"The meeting starts at six," Peterson reported, "so you'll need to meet at the compound by 5:30 and grab your weapons."

"What time do you want us to storm the place, boss?" asked one of the men.

"There won't be any need for that," Peterson answered. "I've arranged for the west entrance to be unlocked and unguarded at five minutes after. You guys can just walk right in."

"Are you sure we won't be walking right into a trap?" asked another.

"Relax, Johnson, the head of security is working for us."

"He is, is he? And what's stopping him from turning on us when it's all said and done?" Johnson persisted.

The contempt in Peterson's voice was audible. "Well, if he just happens to get caught in the crossfire, then we won't need to worry about that, will we?"

*******

Following the meeting, Max broke off his surveillance and returned to headquarters, where the team spent the rest of the afternoon finalizing plans for Monday. From the sound of the listening devices they were still monitoring, Peterson didn't report for work, and the agents assumed he was doing the same. Once they were finished, they turned in early to prepare for a busy day ahead.

Max got up and dressed first thing the next morning, planning to be in position at the Government Center in case any trouble showed up early. Jim was in the kitchen brewing coffee as he was leaving.

"Be careful, Max," Jim cautioned. "Peterson may not be armed, but he'll be no less dangerous."

"Right," Max responded. "Let me know how it goes with Nicholas." At Jim's nod, the blond made his exit.

*******

Two hours later, Jim and Shannon pulled into the regional jail parking lot, each dressed in white protective coveralls. They quickly donned gloves and shoe covers, then put on their hoods.

"Grant, can you hear me?" Jim called through the speaker in his hood.

"Loud and clear, Jim," answered Grant, who was waiting at the main electrical panel in case the staff didn't cooperate with the original plan. "Ready if you need me."

Jim and Shannon each grabbed a device resembling a small suitcase with a microphone attached. Shannon grabbed an additional bag, and the two of them made their way inside.

"Can I help you?" the lady at the desk demanded.

"We're from the health department," answered Jim, showIng her a clipboard with some falsified credentials and a work order. "We got an anonymous tip that there might be an outbreak of tuberculosis in the jail. I'm afraid our protocol requires us to test everyone in this facility."

"Including the inmates?"

"Especially the inmates," advised Shannon.

"And how are you going to do that?"

"Not to worry," Jim assured her. "We have a new way to test for it. All we have to do stick this device inside the bars and let them breathe into it. If they are infected, it will beep."

"And if someone is infected?"

"This order allows us to dress them in protective gear and transport them to the hospital isolation ward. It is secure and they will be under twenty-four hour police guard until they are no longer contagious. Then they will be returned to your faciIity."

"Well, then, I guess you'd better get started."

Jim and Shannon "tested" the lady behind the desk as well as the guard who was standing in the lobby, then the guard led them down the hall and into the cell block.

The two agents pretended to test each of the inmates on the block. Most were cooperative. Some were not, until encouraged to do so by the prison guard. A couple of them were overly aggressive or a little too flirty with Shannon, prompting her to switch places with Jim. But overall, things went smoothly.

About two-thirds of the way down the hall, they spotted Nicholas, looking discouraged and disheveled and barely like himself at all. Shannon's stomach lurched as she began the test.

"Breathe into this device," she requested, her voice shaking slightly, and Nicholas complied. Discreetly, she flipped a small button on the side of the device, and a shrill tone echoed through the cell block.

Jim turned toward Shannon.

"I think we've found Patient Zero," Shannon informed him. "You test the remaining inmates. I'll get this one dressed."

She turned to the prison guard. "I'm going to need you to unlock his cell," she told him.

"I'm not sure that's safe," the guard cautioned, as Shannon extracted the hood and protective coveralls from the bag she was carrying.

"I'm no threat to you," Nicholas said softly, and the defeat in his voice, despite knowing that his team was here and he was about to be set free, shook her to the core.

"I'll need to help him get into this gear," Shannon informed the guard. "You can cuff him once he's appropriately dressed."

Reluctantly, the guard did as he was told. As Shannon helped Nicholas pull his protective gear over his jumpsuit, Jim finished "testing" the other inmates on the block and rejoined his colleagues.

As soon as Nicholas was ready, the guard quickly popped the standard wrist and ankle cuffs on him.

"Well, it looks like he's the only one who's infected, so the bacteria is confined to this one cell," Jim commented. "It'll have to be thoroughly cleaned, of course, but we'd rather not spread it to other parts of the facility. Is there a side door we can take him out of?"

The guard stared at Jim as if thinking this over, then nodded slowly and led the trio to a hidden exit, with Shannon supporting Nicholas as he shuffled forward.

The guard was watching as the trio climbed into the red and white van — with Jim at the wheel and Shannon in the back guarding the "prisoner" — so Jim sped off in the direction of the hospital until he was out of sight. Then, he turned the van around and aimed toward headquarters.

Chapter 12

As soon as the van's rear doors closed, Shannon took her own hood off, then gently lifted the hood off Nicholas' head. The dark-haired agent smiled at her.

"Boy, am I glad to see you guys," he said warmly.

"It's great to see you, too," Shannon returned softly, reaching beside her for the bolt cutters. "Let's get these things off you, shall we?"

A single snip on each side made short work of the handcuffs; the chain encircling Nicholas' waist proved to be a tougher task but the two of them together were able to remove it.

Nicholas rubbed his wrists gingerly while Shannon snipped off his ankle cuffs. When she was finished, she laid down the bolt cutters and took a long look at her pale, disheveled friend.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a half-whisper.

Nicholas stopped rubbing his wrists and wrapped Shannon in a warm hug. "I'm okay now," he assured her. But the embrace lingered, and Shannon could feel his body trembling slightly.

When she finally felt his arms relax, Shannon held onto them, and her worried eyes met his once again. "Are you sure?"

Nicholas sighed heavily, then nodded and smiled reassuringly. "I just don't ever want to go through anything like that again," he told her.

In the meantime, Jim had taken his hood off and clicked on his communicator to let Grant and Max know that Nicholas was safe with them. Within a few minutes, they arrived back at headquarters, with Grant pulling in behind them.

The Black agent was waiting when Nicholas climbed out of the back of the van, still wearing his white coveralls and prison jumpsuit.

"Hey, man, good to see you," he greeted with a wide grin, a warm handshake, and a fond shoulder slap. "You look like hell," he added teasingly.

"I just need a warm shower and some decent clothes," Nicholas answered, returning his smile. Then he sobered slightly. "Where's Max?"

"He's in position at the Government Center," Jim reported. "We'll be joining him there in a little while. But first, I've got to make some phone calls."

*******

At precisely five forty-five, Gage Peterson arrived at the main entrance to the Government Center. The security guard at the metal detector found his name on the guest list and ushered him in. Max was waiting for him on the other side of it, dressed this time in pebble grey.

"Right on time," he greeted with a firm handshake and a wide grin. "This way."

Max showed Peterson to a table near the front of the large presentation room and urged him to sit down. Max remained standing, glancing around the room as if keeping an eye on things, as a few other guests trickled in. Peterson was surprised that Deputy Chief Williams did not seem to be among them, and wondered absently where he was.

Peterson waited for a few moments, then looked at his watch. It was five to six.

"Hey, Hartman."

Max leaned down, placing his ear next to Peterson's mouth.

"What about that, um, accessory of yours, huh? It's almost that time."

Max turned his lips to the lieutenant's ear. "Wait till the meeting starts," he answered. "Everyone will be distracted."

A moment later, Max took his seat beside Peterson as the rest of the VIPs emerged from behind the front curtains and sat down at their table. Then the rear entry doors closed, and a woman Peterson recognized as the acting state governor walked onto the stage and stood behind the podium.

"Good evening, and thank you for being here," she began. "I have called this task force together to discuss the regional protest group calling themselves the Backwoods Patriots, the increasing violence they have brought to our community, and how we can best protect our citizens. But before we get started, I would like to introduce a very special guest. Please welcome, former New River Police Officer, Nicholas Martin."

The dark-haired agent, now in formal attire, emerged from behind the curtain where the VIPs had been only moments before. Peterson went pale for a moment, then his face turned beet red.

"But how-? How'd you get out of jail?" he stammered, jumping to his feet. "You're a murderer! He's a murderer!" he exclaimed to the seated crowd, pointing at Nicholas.

"No, I'm no murderer, Lieutenant, you are," Nicholas smirked, his voice calm. "I was just your fall guy."

Nicholas pushed a button on a small device he was holding, and a familiar sound came across the speakers:

"You killed someone, for heaven's sake! And for no reason! Does that not bother you?"

"Not if they can't prove I did it. That rookie cop will make a great patsy."

As the crowd murmured in surprise, Peterson's body tensed, and Max grabbed him before he could make a move toward Nicholas. Instantly, Peterson turned on Max.

"You set me up!" he bellowed, taking a swing at the blond, which the latter easily blocked.

"How's it feel, huh?" he quipped.

Peterson tried to free himself from Max's strong grip, but it was no use. With lightning speed, Max bent the lawman's arms behind him, securing them both in a pair of handcuffs he'd produced from the pocket of his suitcoat.

"Not so fast, pal," he sneered, his grip firm. "Enjoy the rest of the show."

"But Martin really did kill Brett Miller! Ask his wife!"

Just then two women who'd been seated at a table on the other side of the podium stood up and turned toward the corrupt lawman.

"You killed my husband, Mister Peterson," said Mrs. Miller, her voice deliberate and brave and her gaze piercing. "This man tried to help him. I know that now."

"And we will both tell that to the judge," added Savannah Marshall, standing beside the young widow and grasping her hand.

Before Peterson could recover, a third woman emerged from the crowd — one he recognized as the new human resources specialist, having seen her picture on the announcements board at the precinct.

"And that's not the only time someone else got blamed for your bad behavior, is it, Lieutenant?" asked Shannon contemptuously.

Nicholas pushed the button a second time, and a different voice clip played over the speakers:

"You really ought to think about reining it in a little, Peterson. It's getting harder and harder to cover for you."

"But you will continue to do it, won't you, Williams? And you know why."

"The State Attorney General is about to find out just how long your buddy Williams has been cleaning up your messes for you, and how many others you've blackmailed into doing your bidding." Shannon smiled. "It's going to be a long, ugly investigation."

Peterson was silent now, knowing that he was headed to prison, and that the deputy chief had most likely already been arrested. But surely they hadn't been able to stop his Patriots! Even if the west entrance was locked, surely they would come storming in, as originally planned, any minute now!

He scanned the room for any sign of them. Nicholas saw him looking and spoke again.

"Oh, Peterson, if you're looking for the cavalry, I'm afraid it isn't coming," he announced, satisfaction in his voice, as a tall, white-haired man took his place near the podium.

"No, it isn't," Jim said with a chuckle, as Nicholas pushed a third button on his device and a photo of two men displayed on the projector screen above him.

"You see, the ATF knows all about your friendship with Jorge Villardes, and all those weapons you've been bringing back from San Antonio."

Peterson suddenly recognized the speaker as someone he'd seen at the Texas hotel, and his stomach dropped.

Nicholas pushed one more button, and a final photo of the lieutenant and his shed full of illegal firearms was on full display, as a final voice clip played over the speakers:

"Come Monday evening, the Backwoods Patriots will have full control of every major powerhouse in New River. And then we can do whatever the hell we want."

"It's over, Peterson," Jim concluded. "The ATF has confiscated your weapons and taken a couple dozen of your friends into custody. You and your Backwoods Patriots are finished."

Peterson's face went pale and he felt faint as the room full of community leaders broke into thunderous applause. Then two ATF agents in camouflage uniforms emerged from the rear entry doors to take the corrupt former lieutenant out of Max's hands.

In the chaos that followed, the four teammates managed to slip out the back doors and head towards the SUV, where Grant — who'd been behind the scenes facilitating the audiovisual display — was waiting.

On his way out, Nicholas caught sight of Savannah Marshall, who was standing with Brett Miller's wife. He walked over to them, reaching out to grasp the widow's hand.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Miller," he said sincerely, his eyes moist. "And thank you both for being here."

"Thank you guys for giving us our community back," Savannah returned, smiling softly. "It's a shame we won't be working together, after all, but I'm sure I'll see you back here once Peterson goes on trial."

"Of course," he answered, sealing his word with a friendly handshake. "Take care."

As the women went on their way, Nicholas became aware that Max was still hanging behind, waiting for him. Relieved that Peterson hadn't done his friend any harm, Nicholas smiled at him.

"Well, you cleaned up nicely," Max said teasingly, returning his smile. "No more prison jumpsuit, eh?"

"No, thank goodness," the dark-haired agent replied with a forced sigh. "It's nice to be in decent clothes again."

Max nervously ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't know much about what Nicholas had been through, but he did know his friend.

"It must have been rough for you being locked up," he said softly, with equal parts concern and sympathy in his voice. "I hope you're doing all right with everything."

"I'm getting there," Nicholas assured him, his heart warmed by his friend's compassion. "Thanks for having my back."

"Always, partner." Max grinned momentarily, then turned serious again. "And, look, if you ever want to talk about it-"

"I know," Nicholas interrupted, giving the blond an affectionate back slap. "Let's get out of here."

Epilogue

The team debriefed during breakfast at headquarters the next morning, since their flight home wasn't leaving till the early afternoon.

"Based on what the Secretary has been able to gather, the citizens involved in the Backwoods Patriots were all victims of Gage Peterson's extortion," Jim advised, "gleaned from files his father kept before his retirement."

"So this has been going on for a very long time," Shannon mused.

Jim nodded. "You were right about this being a lengthy investigation," he told her. "There are likely going to be multiple injuries, if not deaths, associated with Peterson and his henchmen."

"Well, we know of at least one," Nicholas said sadly. "Brett Miller."

"Yes," the elder agent agreed with a slight grin. "Peterson's facing second degree murder charges on that one, with Williams as accessory for covering for him and framing you."

"So the charges against me have been dropped?" the dark-haired agent asked hopefully.

Jim's smile grew wider as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Nicholas. "Signed by the State Attorney General himself," he affirmed.

Nicholas opened the paper, looked at it, and sighed in relief. "I mean, I knew they would be dropped eventually, but I didn't want to have to go back there while we were waiting for all the red tape."

The dark-haired agent shuddered slightly at the thought, prompting Max to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax, buddy," he said fondly. "Looks like you're a free man, after all."

Grant couldn't resist a little needling. "But, hey, now that you've got some experience, the next time we need a guy on the inside we'll know who to call," he deadpanned, fighting hard to keep a straight face.

Nicholas cast a horrified look at his friend, whose poker face erupted into a huge grin. "I'm just messing with you."

Then all five agents laughed heartily as they prepared to head for home.

The End

(c) 2026