The old man’s face hit the tile floor with a sound that silenced the entire diner. Blood spread from his split lip. His aluminum crutches clattered beside him. Three men stood over him, laughing, kicking, enjoying every second of his pain.
Frank Patterson was seventy years old. He’d lost his leg in Vietnam. He’d survived fifty years of nightmares, but he couldn’t survive three thugs who decided his booth belonged to them.
No one moved to help. No one dared. Then, the door opened. A Navy SEAL in combat uniform stepped inside, a German Shepherd at his heel. And everything changed.
Frank Patterson had only wanted soup. That was all. Just a bowl of something warm to quiet the ache in his joints and the louder ache that lived behind his ribs. The diner was mostly empty, the way he liked it. Fewer people meant fewer stares at his crutches and fewer whispered comments about the empty space where his left leg used to be.
He’d chosen his usual booth near the window. Sarah, the waitress who’d served him for fifteen years, brought water without being asked.
«Soup today, Frank?»
«Yes, ma’am. Thank you.»
She smiled at him the way she always did, without pity, which mattered more than most people realized. Then the door slammed open. Three men walked in, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Frank knew trouble when he saw it. Fifty years of living hadn’t dulled that instinct. The leader was in his early thirties, massive across the shoulders, with prison tattoos crawling up his neck and arms. His name was Vince Torello, though Frank didn’t know that yet. What Frank knew was the look in those eyes: the hunger, the cruelty.
The two men behind Vince were just as dangerous. One was a giant, at least six-foot-five, maybe two-eighty, with hands like sledgehammers. The other was smaller, wiry, with restless eyes that never stopped moving. They scanned the diner the way predators scan a watering hole. Their eyes landed on Frank.
«Well, well,» Vince said, loud enough for everyone to hear. «Look at this, boys. Grandpa took our booth.»
Frank’s heart began to pound. He gripped his crutches tighter. «I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was…»
«Didn’t ask for excuses, old man.» Vince walked toward the booth, his boots heavy on the tile. «Asked you to move.»
«I’ll just… I’ll find another…» Frank tried to stand. His bad hip seized, the way it always did when he moved too fast. He stumbled, grabbed the table edge, and tried to steady himself.
The giant laughed. «Look at him shake like a leaf.»
«Please,» Sarah said, stepping forward. «He’s a veteran. He didn’t mean any…»
«Shut up.» Vince didn’t even look at her. His eyes stayed fixed on Frank. «I said move, cripple.»
Frank was halfway up when Vince kicked the crutch out from under him. He went down hard. His shoulder hit the booth, and his face hit the floor. The taste of blood filled his mouth instantly.
«That’s better,» Vince said. «Now you’re where you belong.»
The diner went dead silent. Forks stopped moving. Conversations died. Everyone saw, but no one spoke. Frank tried to push himself up, arms trembling. The wiry one, Kyle, stepped on his hand.
«Stay down, Grandpa. Dogs belong on the floor.»
«Please,» Frank’s voice cracked. «Please, I didn’t do anything.»
«You’re right. You didn’t.» Vince crouched down, his face inches from Frank’s. «And you never will. Because you’re nothing. Just a broken old man that nobody wants.»
The giant, Brick, kicked Frank in the ribs. Not hard enough to break anything, just hard enough to make a point. Frank curled into himself, protecting his head the way he’d learned to do fifty years ago in a jungle on the other side of the world. The same position. The same helplessness. The same shame.
«Stop it!» Sarah screamed. «Someone call the police!»
Vince backhanded her without looking. She stumbled against the counter, hand going to her split lip.
«Anyone else?» Vince looked around the diner. «Anyone else want to be a hero?»
Silence. An elderly couple in the corner stared at their plates. A truck driver at the counter suddenly found his coffee fascinating. A young mother pulled her children closer and looked away. No one moved. No one helped.
Frank lay on the cold tile, blood dripping from his mouth, and something inside him that had survived a war finally began to break.
Then the door chimed. Marcus Cole stepped inside, and the air in the room changed without anyone quite knowing why. He was in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered, wearing the Navy Working Uniform Type III that he hadn’t had time to change out of after six hours of driving.
The digital camouflage pattern, green and brown, marked him as what he was: Military. Active. Dangerous. His hair was short and dark brown, his jaw outlined by a trimmed beard. His eyes were calm and assessing, the kind that measured distance and intent before emotion.
At his side walked a German Shepherd. The dog was magnificent, with a black and tan coat, thick and clean. His intelligent amber eyes were alert but relaxed. He moved with disciplined grace, close to Marcus’s leg, neither pulling nor lagging. His name was Shadow, and he was six years old. Old enough to know restraint, young enough to act if needed.
Marcus saw Frank on the floor before he saw anything else. He saw the blood. The crutches scattered. The old man curled in the fetal position while three predators stood over him. Something cold settled into Marcus’s chest, something he’d learned in Afghanistan, Iraq, and a dozen other places where evil wore human faces.
«Step away from him.»
The words were quiet. They didn’t need to be loud. Vince turned, smiling. «Well, look at this. Navy boy wants to play hero.»
«I said step away.»
«Or what?» Vince spread his arms wide. «You gonna arrest me? This ain’t your jurisdiction, sailor.»
Marcus didn’t respond. He walked forward, Shadow matching his pace exactly. He reached Frank, knelt down, and placed one hand on the old man’s shoulder.
«Sir, can you hear me?»
Frank’s eyes opened. They were pale blue, clouded with pain and something worse: shame. The terrible shame of a man who had once been strong and now couldn’t protect himself from cowards.
«I’m okay,» Frank whispered. «Just let them have the booth.»
«No.» Marcus helped him sit up, moving slowly, checking for injuries. «No one’s giving them anything.»
«You should leave,» Sarah’s voice trembled. She was holding a cloth to her bleeding lip. «These men work for Caruso. Do you understand? Vincent Caruso.»
Marcus looked at her.
«I don’t care who they work for,» Vince laughed. «Hear that, boys? He doesn’t care.» He pulled a knife from his belt, a tactical blade with a serrated edge. «Maybe we should teach him why he should.»
Shadow’s body went rigid. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest.
«Control your mutt,» Vince said, «or I’ll gut it.»
Marcus stood slowly. He positioned himself between Frank and the three men. His posture was open, hands visible. But something in his stillness promised violence if violence was chosen.
«Put the knife away.»
«Make me.»
«If I have to make you, you won’t enjoy it.»
Kyle circled to the left. Brick moved to the right. They were trying to flank him, the same way they’d probably flanked dozens of victims before. Marcus tracked all three without seeming to move his eyes.
«Last chance,» he said. «Walk away. Nobody gets hurt.»
Vince’s smile widened. «You know what I think? I think you’re bluffing. I think you’re just a guy in a costume pretending to be tough.»
«You’re welcome to test that theory.»
«You know what, Navy? I think I will.»
Vince lunged, knife slashing toward Marcus’s throat. Marcus moved. It happened so fast that most people in the diner didn’t even see it. One moment Vince was attacking; the next moment, he was on the ground, his knife hand bent at an unnatural angle, screaming.
Marcus hadn’t even taken a step. He’d simply redirected Vince’s momentum, trapped his wrist, and applied pressure until something snapped.
«My hand! He broke my goddamn hand!»
Brick charged with a roar. All two hundred and eighty pounds of him aimed at Marcus like a freight train.
«Shadow, hold!»
The German Shepherd intercepted Brick before Marcus even had to move. Sixty-five pounds of trained military canine hit the giant in the chest, teeth finding his forearm, weight taking him to the ground. Brick screamed. Shadow didn’t release. His jaws clamped down with controlled pressure—enough to immobilize, not enough to maim. Yet.Kyle pulled his own knife, eyes wild, and slashed at Marcus from behind. Marcus spun, caught Kyle’s wrist, and drove an elbow into his solar plexus. Kyle doubled over, gasping. Marcus took the knife from his slack fingers, then put him on the floor with a leg sweep that knocked the wind from his lungs.
Three seconds. All three men were down. The diner remained frozen.
Marcus zip-tied Vince’s unbroken hand to a table leg. Then Kyle. Then he signaled Shadow to release Brick, who was sobbing and clutching his injured forearm.
«You’re dead,» Vince spat through his pain. «You hear me? You’re dead. Caruso will…»
«I don’t care about Caruso.» Marcus’s voice was flat. «I care about the man you assaulted. The woman you hit. The people you terrorized.»
He turned to Sarah. «Call 911. Tell them there’s been an assault and three suspects are detained.»
Sarah grabbed the phone with shaking hands. Marcus returned to Frank, kneeling beside him again. The old man was staring at him with an expression Marcus couldn’t quite read.
«You okay, sir?»
«You…» Frank’s voice broke. «You didn’t have to do that.»
«Yes, I did.»
«Nobody ever… I mean… I’m just an old…» He couldn’t finish the sentence. Tears were streaming down his weathered face, mixing with the blood from his split lip.
«You’re a veteran,» Marcus said quietly. «You served this country. That means something.»
«It means everything.»
Shadow approached Frank, nose sniffing gently, tail giving a tentative wag. The dog seemed to sense the old man’s distress and settled beside him, offering warmth and presence. Frank reached out with trembling fingers and touched Shadow’s head. A sob escaped him. Then another.
«It’s okay,» Marcus said. «You’re safe now.»
The diner door opened again. A man walked in, and the temperature dropped once more. He was in his mid-fifties, wearing a tailored wool coat the color of wet charcoal. His hair was neatly combed, salt and pepper, his face smooth in a way that came from money buying time. He smiled without warmth.
Two armed men flanked him. Professionals, not thugs.
«Well,» the man said, surveying the scene. «This is… unexpected.»
Vince looked up from the floor, face twisted with pain and rage. «Mr. Caruso! He attacked us! Broke my hand!»
Vincent Caruso raised an eyebrow. «I can see that, Vince.» He stepped over Kyle’s prone form without a glance. «And who might you be, sailor?»
«Marcus Cole.»
«Navy SEAL, by the look of you. The uniform, the dog, the efficiency of your work here.» Caruso’s smile didn’t waver. «I respect military service. My father served in Korea.»
«Then you should respect what this man went through.» Marcus nodded toward Frank. «And you should control your employees better.»
«Ah, yes, the veteran.» Caruso looked at Frank with mild curiosity, the way someone might look at a stain on a carpet. «Mr. Patterson. How unfortunate that you’ve been caught up in this misunderstanding.»
«Misunderstanding?» Sarah’s voice was sharp. «They beat him. They kicked him while he was on the ground.»
«Sarah,» Caruso’s voice was soft, gentle even. «How is your mother? Still at Sunset Grove? I hear there have been some problems with the staff lately. Medication errors, things like that.»
Sarah went pale. Her mouth opened, then closed.
«I didn’t think so.» Caruso turned back to Marcus. «Mr. Cole, I’m a businessman. I don’t like… complications. You’ve created a complication.»
«Your men created the complication when they assaulted a seventy-year-old man.»
«My men say differently. They say the old man got aggressive, got confused. They were defending themselves.» Caruso smiled and looked around the diner. «There are witnesses. Are there?»
One by one, the other customers dropped their eyes. The elderly couple in the corner. The truck driver at the counter. The young mother with her children. No one spoke. No one would meet Marcus’s gaze.
«You see, Mr. Cole? People in this town understand how things work. They understand that memory can be… flexible.» Caruso stepped closer, close enough that Marcus could smell his expensive cologne. «I’m going to give you one chance. One. Walk away. Leave this town. Forget any of this happened. And I’ll forget about you.»
«And if I don’t?»
«Then things become… complicated. For you. For Mr. Patterson. For everyone you care about.» Caruso’s eyes flicked to Shadow. «That’s a beautiful dog. Military-trained, I assume. It would be a shame if something happened to him.»
Shadow growled. Marcus placed a calming hand on his head.
«Are you threatening me, Mr. Caruso?»
«I’m offering you advice. Free advice. The kind that keeps people alive in this town.»
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Caruso stepped back, smoothing his coat.
«Think about my offer. Take the night. But I’ll need your answer by morning.» He snapped his fingers. His two armed men cut the zip ties holding Vince, Kyle, and Brick.
The three thugs staggered to their feet, Vince cradling his broken hand, Brick clutching his bloody arm.
«We’ll be going now,» Caruso said, «before the police arrive. I’m sure you understand.»
They were out the door before Marcus could respond. Two patrol cars pulled into the parking lot moments later. Two officers entered the diner, hands on their weapons.
«We got a report of an assault,» one of them said. A young deputy, nervous.
«Three men attacked this veteran,» Marcus said. «They assaulted the waitress as well.»
The deputy looked at Frank, bleeding on the floor. At Sarah, holding a cloth to her lip. At Marcus, in his military uniform.
«That’s not what we heard. We heard a sailor attacked some local businessmen.»
Marcus felt his jaw tighten. «Look at him. Does he look like the aggressor to you?»
The deputy exchanged a glance with his partner. «Sir, I’m going to need you to come with us. Just some questions.»
«Am I under arrest?»
«Not yet. But that depends on how cooperative you are.»
Marcus looked at Frank, at Sarah, at the silent witnesses who refused to meet his eyes. Caruso’s reach extended even here.
«Shadow, stay with him.» Marcus pointed to Frank. The German Shepherd moved immediately, positioning himself beside the old man, guarding.
«Sir, the dog—»
«The dog stays. He’s a trained service animal. He’s not leaving the victim’s side.» Marcus held out his hands. «I’ll come peacefully. But you should know something.»
«What’s that?»
«I’m a Navy SEAL. I’ve served this country for fifteen years. I’ve never broken a law in my life.» He looked at the deputy with eyes that had seen things no one should see. «Think very carefully about what you’re doing here. Because I promise you, if there’s corruption in this department, I will find it. And I will expose it.»
The deputy’s hand trembled slightly on his weapon. «Let’s go,» he said quietly.
They led Marcus out in handcuffs, while Frank Patterson watched from the floor, one hand buried in Shadow’s fur, tears still streaming down his face.
In the holding cell, Marcus waited. He’d been in worse places: Afghanistan caves, Iraqi prisons, interrogation rooms where the enemy didn’t follow any rules. This was just a small-town jail cell. But what it represented was worse.
An hour passed, then two. Finally, the cell door opened. A man in his late fifties stood there, gray hair, tired eyes. The face of someone who’d spent decades swimming against the current.
«Deputy Chief William Carter,» the man said. «Mind if I sit?»
«It’s your jail.»
Carter pulled up a chair outside the cell and lowered himself into it with a grunt. «I’ve been watching you on the security footage. The diner has cameras. Not great quality, but good enough.»
Marcus waited.
«Those three men who attacked Patterson? Vince Torello. Dean Murphy. Kyle Reese. They work for Vincent Caruso. You probably figured that out already.»
«I figured it out when Caruso walked in and threatened everyone in the building.»
Carter nodded slowly. «Caruso has owned this town for twenty years. Judges, politicians, half my department.» He paused. «I’m not one of them, in case you’re wondering.»
«Why should I believe you?»
«Because I’m the only one who kept that surveillance footage. Everyone else wanted to erase it.» Carter leaned forward. «You did something tonight that nobody in this town has done in two decades. You stood up to Caruso. You protected a man he wanted hurt.»
«Why does Caruso care about an old veteran?»
Carter was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, «Frank Patterson used to be an accountant before Vietnam. When he came back, he was broken. Couldn’t work. Couldn’t function. But forty years ago, before all that, he did the books for Caruso’s father.»
Marcus felt something cold settle in his stomach. «He knows things.»
«He knows where the bodies are buried. Literally. The elder Caruso was worse than his son. Frank kept quiet all these years because he was scared. And guilty. And drunk, for most of it.» Carter shook his head. «But last month, Frank got sober. Started going to AA. Started talking about making amends.»
«Caruso found out.»
«Caruso finds out everything.» Carter stood. «I can’t hold you. The footage clearly shows you acting in defense of Patterson. But I also can’t protect you. Not from Caruso.»
«I don’t need protection.»
«Everyone needs protection from that man. His reach goes further than you can imagine.» Carter opened the cell door. «Your dog is with Frank Patterson. Sarah took them both to her apartment. It’s not safe for either of them to be alone tonight.»
Marcus stepped out of the cell. «Where’s the apartment?»
«I’ll drive you.» Carter paused. «And Mr. Cole? Whatever you’re planning to do next, be careful. The last person who tried to expose Caruso disappeared. They never found the body.»
Marcus looked at him with eyes that had seen too much darkness to be afraid of more. «Then maybe it’s time someone who can’t disappear tried.»
Carter studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. «Maybe it is.»
They drove through the dark streets in silence. Marcus began to plan. Caruso thought he owned this town. Thought he owned everyone in it. He was about to learn how wrong he was.
Sarah’s apartment smelled like coffee and fear. Marcus stepped inside to find Frank Patterson sitting on the couch. Shadow pressed against his legs, the old man’s hand buried in the dog’s fur like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the world.
«Thank God,» Sarah breathed when she saw Marcus. «I didn’t know if they’d let you go.»
«They didn’t have a choice.» Marcus knelt in front of Frank. «How are you feeling?»
Frank looked up with eyes that had aged ten years in one night. «You shouldn’t have helped me. You should have walked away like everyone else.»
«That’s not who I am.»
«Then you’re a fool,» Frank’s voice cracked. «Caruso will destroy you. He destroys everyone.»
Marcus sat down across from the old man. Shadow hadn’t moved, still pressed against Frank’s leg, sensing the trauma that radiated from him like heat.
«Tell me about Caruso,» Marcus said. «Tell me everything.»
Frank shook his head. «I can’t. I’ve kept quiet for forty years. Keeping quiet is the only reason I’m still alive.»
«Keeping quiet is killing you anyway.» Marcus leaned forward. «I saw it in your eyes at that diner. You’re not living. You’re just waiting to die.»
The words hit Frank like a physical blow. His face crumpled. «You don’t understand. The things I know, the things I helped cover up…» Tears spilled down his weathered cheeks. «I was twenty-three years old, fresh out of college. The Carusos offered me a job doing their books. Good money. More than I’d ever seen.»
«And you didn’t ask questions?»
«I asked plenty of questions. Then I saw what happened to people who asked questions.» Frank’s hands trembled. «There was a man, Tommy Sullivan. He worked at the warehouse. Found out about the shipments. Drugs. Guns. People.» His voice dropped to a whisper. «They made me watch what they did to him. Then they made me bury the receipts.»
Sarah covered her mouth. «Frank, you never told me.»
«I never told anyone. For forty years, I’ve carried it. Then, Vietnam happened. And I thought, maybe I’d die there, and it wouldn’t matter anymore.» Frank laughed bitterly. «But I didn’t die. I just lost my leg and came home to a country that didn’t want me and a secret that ate me alive.»
Marcus processed this information the way he processed battlefield intelligence. Quickly. Thoroughly. Without judgment.
«The records you kept—do they still exist?»
Frank went still. «How did you know I kept records?»
«You were an accountant. Good accountants keep backups.» Marcus met his eyes. «Where are they, Frank?»
«Hidden. Somewhere Caruso could never find them.» Frank’s jaw tightened. «I kept them as insurance. In case they ever came for me. But I was too afraid to ever use them.»
«Use them now.»
«You don’t understand. Those records implicate me, too. I’ll go to prison.»
«Maybe. Or maybe you’ll finally be free.»
Frank stared at him for a long moment. Then he looked at Shadow, who gazed back with steady, amber eyes.
«Your dog,» Frank said quietly. «He hasn’t left my side since the diner. He knows when someone needs him. I had a dog in Vietnam. German Shepherd, like yours. His name was Scout.» Frank’s voice grew distant. «He saved my life. Three times. Died the night I lost my leg. Threw himself on a grenade meant for me.»Marcus felt something shift in his chest. «He was a good soldier.»
«The best. Better than me.» Frank wiped his eyes. «I’ve been a coward my whole life. Watching. Staying quiet. Letting evil happen because standing up was too hard.»
«You can change that. Tonight.»
«Can I?» Frank looked at Marcus with desperate hope. «At seventy years old, can a coward become something else?»
«I’ve seen men transform in seconds. It’s never too late.»
The silence stretched between them. Then Frank nodded slowly. «There’s a storage unit outside of town. Unit 247. The records are there. Everything the Carusos have done for forty years.»
«I’ll get them.»
«It’s not that simple.» Frank grabbed Marcus’s arm with surprising strength. «Caruso has people everywhere. Cops. Lawyers. Judges. Even if you get the records, who will you give them to?»
«I know people in Washington. Federal contacts who can’t be bought.»
«Everyone can be bought.»
«Not everyone.» Marcus stood. «Stay here with Sarah. Shadow will protect you.»
«No.» Frank struggled to his feet, grabbing his crutches. «If I’m going to stop being a coward, I have to come with you. I have to be the one who hands over those records.»
«Frank, you can barely walk.»
«I walked through jungles with half a leg. I can walk through this.» Frank’s eyes burned with something Marcus hadn’t seen there before. Determination. «Fifty years ago, I let fear control me. Not tonight.»
Sarah stepped forward. «I’m coming too.»
«Absolutely not,» Marcus said.
«Those men hit me. Threatened my mother. I’ve spent fifteen years serving coffee and pretending I didn’t see the evil in this town.» Her chin lifted. «If Frank can be brave after seventy years, I can be brave after fifteen.»
Marcus looked at the two of them. An old man with crutches and a middle-aged waitress with a split lip. His backup. In Afghanistan, he’d worked with worse.
«Fine. But you do exactly what I say when I say it.»
They both nodded. Marcus pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t called in months.
«Carter, it’s Cole. I need a favor.»
«I’m listening.»
«How corrupt is the county records office?»
«Very. Why?»
«Because I need to know who owns the storage facility on Miller Road.»
Silence on the line. Then Carter said, «That’s the old Hendricks place. Been abandoned for years. Officially.»
«And unofficially?»
«Unofficially, it’s one of Caruso’s properties. He uses it to store things he doesn’t want found.»
Marcus felt his pulse quicken. «Including evidence?»
«Including a lot of things,» Carter’s voice dropped. «Cole, if you’re thinking about going there, don’t. Caruso has that place guarded around the clock.»
«How many guards?»
«Three, usually. More if he’s moving something.»
«Armed?»
«Always.»
Marcus calculated. Three guards. One SEAL. One trained K-9. The odds weren’t great. But he’d faced worse. «Thanks, Carter.»
«Wait, Cole, what are you planning?»
«What I’ve been trained to do.» Marcus ended the call and turned to the others. «Change of plans. I’m going alone.»
«Like hell you are,» Frank said. «There are armed guards. This isn’t a coffee run.»
«I spent two years in combat. I’ve been under fire before.»
«Fifty years ago? A gun works the same as it did then.» Frank met his eyes. «I know that facility. I helped set it up back when Caruso’s father was running things. I know where the security blind spots are. I know the access codes.»
«Codes change.»
«Not these codes. The elder Caruso was paranoid. He used dates that meant something to him. Important dates.» Frank’s jaw tightened. «Like the date Tommy Sullivan died.»
Marcus processed this. Having someone who knew the layout could be valuable. Could also get them killed.
«If things go wrong, you leave. You don’t look back. You don’t try to help. You run.»
«Agreed.»
«Sarah, you stay here.»
She opened her mouth to protest.
«Someone needs to be ready to call for help if we don’t come back. That’s you.»
Sarah nodded reluctantly. «How long?»
«If we’re not back by dawn, call this number.» Marcus wrote Carter’s cell on a napkin. «Tell him everything. He’ll know what to do.»
They left through the back door, avoiding the main streets. Shadow moved ahead, ears rotating, alert for threats. Frank struggled to keep up, his crutches clicking on the pavement, but he didn’t complain.
They reached Marcus’s truck parked two blocks away. «Get in the back,» Marcus told Frank. «Keep your head down.»
The drive took twenty minutes. As they approached the storage facility, Marcus killed the headlights and rolled to a stop behind a stand of trees.
«There,» Frank pointed to a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. «The main gate is on the east side, but there’s a service entrance on the north, less visible.»
«Cameras?»
«Four that I know of, but they’re old. The elder Caruso never upgraded the system.»
«Guards?»
«Patrol route takes them around the perimeter every fifteen minutes. At least, it used to.»
Marcus checked his watch. «Stay here until I signal.»
«What’s the signal?»
«You’ll know it.»
He slipped out of the truck, Shadow at his heel. They moved through the darkness like ghosts, Marcus’s SEAL training making him invisible in the shadows. He reached the fence and found the service entrance. A padlock hung from the gate. Old. Rusted. He picked it in thirty seconds.
Inside, the facility stretched before him. Rows of storage units, most of them dark. But one, near the center, had light spilling from under the door.
Guards. Marcus circled wide, staying low. Shadow moved beside him, perfectly silent. He counted two guards at the lit unit. A third patrolled the perimeter, maybe fifty yards away. Three targets. Manageable.
The patrolling guard passed close to Marcus’s position. Marcus waited until the man’s back was turned, then moved. One hand over the mouth. One arm around the neck. Pressure. Darkness. The guard slumped unconscious. Marcus zip-tied his hands and dragged him behind a storage unit.
Two left. He signaled Shadow with a hand gesture. The dog understood instantly, moving toward the lit unit from the opposite direction. Marcus approached from the west. Through a gap in the door, he could see the two guards playing cards at a folding table. Pistols on their hips. A shotgun leaning against the wall.
