“As far as I’m concerned, she was never here. She can beat feet outta here with no one the wiser. It’s one of the reasons to have a second vehicle. If she fires her weapon, let’s make sure we pick up her brass.”

Harv glanced at him. “You know Grangeland. She won’t like bugging out and probably won’t do it.”

“This isn’t a suicide mission. We’ll do the same thing if it gets too heavy. There’s no shame in fleeing an overwhelming enemy. We had the same policy as an echo team.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that.”

Nathan answered his friend’s unspoken question. “She’s an FBI special agent. We can’t let our personal feelings get in the way.”

“I guess I’m being overprotective. I hate the idea of her being killed, or worse. The thought of her being in Montez’s possession turns my stomach.”

“We’ll never let that happen. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?” Harv asked.

“Yes.”

“The same goes for us?”

“Especially for us.”

Harv pulled to the curb and killed the engine. Behind them, Grangeland parked and joined them in the rear seat.

They all donned ballistic vests and pulled on black sweatshirts over them. Nathan and Harv secured thermal imagers, night vision monoculars, and suppressed Sig Sauer pistols in their belly packs. Predator knives were strapped in sheaths just above their ankles. Before climbing out, they ran the wiring for earpieces and lapel mikes under their vests. Next, they powered the radios and clipped them into place. Nathan checked his belly pack. Zipped tight. He applied black skin paint to his face. Harv did the same. For what they had planned, though, face paint wouldn’t work for Grangeland.

Nathan looked at his watch: 2247 hours.

They grabbed dark ball caps and started down the sidewalk.

On both sides of the street, cargo containers, flatbed trucks, and stacks of pallets occupied fenced storage yards. A few boats on blocks were scattered among them, most not looking seaworthy. Along the western fence lines, windblown trash had built up like snowdrifts. Graffiti glared everywhere.

Nathan whispered, “Harv, radio check.”

“Good.”

“Grangeland?”

“Good.”

“Okay, we’ll make a pass on the opposite sidewalk and look for cameras.”

He studied the building as they rounded the corner. Constructed of concrete block with small slotted windows near the roofline, the building looked to be approximately one hundred feet square and twenty feet high. Basically a giant box. It probably had a second-level loft or office above the bathrooms. Most small warehouses had floor plans like that. He wouldn’t know until they gained entry. As Harv predicted, the rear wall of the warehouse employed two roll-up doors serving a loading dock. A camera mounted on the roof’s parapet was aimed at the loading dock. They kept going down the sidewalk.