According to the tactical operation briefing, five white nationalist terrorists, who were vocal online supporters of long-dead cult-leader David Hines, had taken over a courtroom and were threatening to kill everyone inside the courthouse if they and the defendant weren’t allowed to walk free.

Never gonna happen.

Three of the attackers had military training, as did the defendant. The other two were self-proclaimed “militia.” Wannabes with dicks the size of Shane’s little finger and brains to match.

These particular whackos had already shot dead the court reporter and were threatening to shoot another hostage every hour until their demands were met. So, even though the Crisis Negotiation Unit was on scene and negotiators were attempting to talk the bad guys into coming out, everyone inside the FBI knew that Judgment Day was coming.

But probably not in the way the tangos envisioned with their corrupt version of Christian values and morals Satan would get a kick out of.

The signal to “get ready” came through his earpiece. The pilot pulled up the nose of the machine and the terrain beneath Shane switched from inky sea to dense shadowy trees then houses, before morphing into taller buildings in the downtown area that the pilots navigated around with apparent ease.

They were close now. The pilot climbed in altitude before descending rapidly and hovering over what must be the roof of the courthouse. HRT’s second helicopter was barely visible in the darkness.

These machines were quiet compared to most but, even so, the FBI were trying to deflect the hostage takers’ attention away from what might be happening on the roof. Shane recognized one of the FBI negotiators who was helping disguise HRT’s arrival by talking non-stop on the bullhorn. A police cruiser chose that exact moment to turn on the siren and speed away from the courthouse as another distraction.

“Go,” came the order over the comms.

Shane unclipped his safety strap and threw down a chem light as heavy ropes were deployed onto the roof.

Thick gloves stopped his flesh from being ripped off his hands as he wrapped his lower legs around the cable and threw himself off the side of the chopper before fast-roping twenty feet to the flat roof. He took up a defensive position with his H&K 416 D10RS carbine while Cowboy, also now on the roof, released the dog from his harness. The pilot held steady in the darkness as the rest of Shane’s seven-man team, plus kit, descended with rapid efficiency.

In a matter of seconds, the helicopters were flying away, someone inside gathering up the ropes.