Chapter 36: Final Preparations
The warehouse hummed with the quiet intensity that preceded every operation.
It was March 6th, the day before the McKinnon strike, and every member of AEGIS was engaged in the final preparations that would determine whether we lived or died tomorrow. Bear cleaned and recleaned his weapons with the methodical precision of a man who'd learned that malfunctioning equipment killed as surely as enemy fire. Wire ran diagnostic checks on every piece of communications gear, muttering to himself as he tested frequencies and verified encryption protocols. Santos reviewed the floor plans we'd obtained, committing every detail to memory until he could navigate Lucky's Diner with his eyes closed.
Elena organized medical supplies in the corner that had become her domain. Trauma kits, IV bags, bandages, sutures—everything needed to keep someone alive long enough to reach a hospital. She worked in silence, her face set in the expression of professional focus that masked whatever doubts she might be carrying.
Sarah stood at the intelligence wall, making final updates to the tactical display we'd built over the past week. McKinnon's photograph occupied the center, surrounded by images of his known associates, maps of the target area, and timeline charts showing guard rotations and response estimates.
I watched them all, feeling the weight of command that had grown heavier with every operation.
"These people trust me with their lives. Tomorrow, that trust gets tested."
At 1400 hours, I called everyone to the central workspace for the final briefing.
"Lucky's Diner, Jackson Heights." I pointed to the floor plan projected on the warehouse wall. "McKinnon arrives at noon tomorrow for a meeting with a supplier. Our intelligence suggests he'll bring four bodyguards. The supplier typically travels with two. Total opposition: seven hostiles plus McKinnon himself."
The team studied the projection with varying degrees of familiarity—they'd all seen this information before, but repetition was part of the ritual. Hearing it again, seeing it again, drilling it into memory until it became instinct.
"Entry points." I traced the approaches on the map. "Main entrance here, kitchen exit here. McKinnon uses the rear booth for meetings—it gives him sight lines to both exits, but it also means he's boxed in if we control those exits."
"Guard positions?" Bear asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Two inside, two outside. Interior guards take positions at the counter and near the kitchen door. Exterior guards cover the main entrance and the parking lot." I marked each position on the projection. "The supplier's men stay close to their boss—expect them in or immediately adjacent to the booth."
Wire stood and moved to his equipment station. "Fire alarm trigger is ready. One button press and the building's sprinkler system activates, simultaneously sending an alert to the fire department and the central monitoring service. Response time from the nearest firehouse is three minutes, twelve seconds. Police response is faster—fifty-three seconds to dispatch, four minutes average arrival."
"Four minutes is our window," I confirmed. "From the moment the alarm sounds to the moment police arrive on scene. That's how long we have to neutralize all hostiles, confirm McKinnon's elimination, and extract."
Santos spoke up. "What's the civilian situation?"
"Lunch rush at Lucky's averages fifteen to twenty customers, plus four to six staff. The fire alarm should trigger immediate evacuation—most people will leave through the main entrance. Our assault team waits until the evacuation is underway, then moves in while the building is emptying."
"And if civilians don't evacuate?" Elena asked. Her voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the concern underneath.
"We adapt. Any civilian who stays in the building becomes a potential hostage situation. Priority shifts to containment rather than elimination—we secure McKinnon, neutralize immediate threats, and use the chaos to extract without engaging anyone who isn't actively fighting."
Bear grunted. "Lot of variables."
"Welcome to urban operations." I pulled up the next slide—a diagram showing our positioning during the assault. "Roles. Bear and I handle the interior breach. We enter through the main entrance thirty seconds after the alarm sounds, move directly toward the rear booth. Bear takes the guard at the counter; I take the guard near the kitchen. We converge on McKinnon simultaneously."
"Supplier?" Santos asked.
"Unknown priority. If he runs, we let him run—he's not the mission objective. If he fights, he becomes a target. Play it by ear." I pointed to the kitchen exit on the map. "Santos, you cover the rear. Anyone who tries to leave through the kitchen door meets you. Your job is containment—don't let McKinnon or any of his people escape that way."
Santos nodded. "Rules of engagement for the exterior guards?"
"Wire triggers the alarm remotely from the surveillance van. The exterior guards will be distracted by the evacuation—they'll be focused on the crowd, not on potential threats approaching from outside. Bear and I deal with them during entry if necessary, but ideally we're past them before they realize what's happening."
Sarah stepped forward. "I'll be coordinating from the van with Wire. I've got access to the building's internal cameras—they're connected to a cloud service with terrible security—so I can provide real-time updates on guard positions and civilian movements."
"Elena?"
Elena looked up from her medical supplies. "I stay in the van until you call me in. If anyone's wounded, extraction comes first—I can treat in the vehicle. If the extraction is compromised, I'm your backup driver."
"You've done defensive driving training?"
"I spent two years running medical supplies through Juárez. I can handle a high-speed exit." There was a hardness in her voice that I hadn't heard before—a reminder that everyone on this team had a past, and those pasts weren't always peaceful.
I took a moment to study each face in turn. Bear, steady and implacable, a weapon waiting to be aimed. Santos, coiled with the focused energy of a cop about to execute a warrant. Wire, nervous but determined, his technical skills giving him a sense of purpose. Sarah, analytical to the core, already running scenarios in her head. Elena, conflicted but committed, her faith and her pragmatism in constant tension.
Five people who'd chosen to follow me into violence. Five lives that depended on my planning and leadership.
"Don't let them down."
"Contingencies," I continued. "McKinnon is armored—possible but unlikely. If center mass shots don't put him down, switch to headshots immediately. We confirm the kill before we extract."
"McKinnon runs before we reach him?"
"He won't have time. The fire alarm creates confusion, the evacuation blocks his path to the main exit, and Santos covers the rear. He's boxed in."
"Police arrive early?"
Wire answered this one. "I'm monitoring their dispatch frequencies in real-time. If I detect a response before we're clear, I'll warn you. Worst case, we have ninety seconds warning before the first car arrives."
"Not enough time to complete the operation," Sarah noted.
"Then we abort. If police are en route before we've engaged McKinnon, we walk away and try again another day." I let that sink in. "This isn't worth dying for. McKinnon isn't going anywhere—if we don't get him tomorrow, we get him next week or next month. Patience is part of the plan."
Bear shook his head. "If we abort, he knows he's being hunted. Security gets tighter. Opportunities disappear."
"Then we find new opportunities. I'm not trading operator lives for one target, no matter how important he is."
The room was quiet for a moment. Then Santos spoke, his voice thoughtful.
"You're different than other commanders I've served under."
"How so?"
"Most of them would say the mission comes first. Acceptable losses, necessary sacrifices—all that crap they teach at officer school." He met my eyes. "You actually mean it when you say our lives matter more than the target."
"We're not soldiers following orders. We're people who chose to be here. That choice deserves respect." I straightened and looked around the room. "Any other questions about the operation?"
Wire raised his hand tentatively. "What happens after? Assuming we succeed—what's the next step?"
"McKinnon's death creates a power vacuum in the Dogs of Hell. We gather whatever intelligence we can from the scene, then we watch what happens. Someone will try to take over—maybe someone better, maybe someone worse. Either way, we'll have disrupted their operations and sent a message to everyone watching."
"And Karen Page?" Sarah asked.
I'd been thinking about that too. Karen had published the trafficking story, but she hadn't reached out since our meeting. She was probably still processing what she'd learned, deciding how to handle the vigilante contact who'd dropped a bombshell in her lap.
"If McKinnon dies and it's not immediately attributed to gang violence, she'll start asking questions. We might need to get ahead of that—give her a story she can publish without compromising our operations."
"More exposure," Santos said. "That's a risk."
"Controlled exposure. We're going to become known eventually—better to shape the narrative than let others define it for us."
The briefing wound down, everyone dispersing to their final preparations. Bear returned to his weapons. Wire ran one more diagnostic on the communications gear. Sarah updated the intelligence wall with the latest observations. Elena organized her medical supplies with the precision of someone preparing for triage.
Santos lingered near the folding table, his hand in his pocket. When he noticed me watching, he pulled out a worn rosary—wooden beads on a simple cord, clearly decades old.
"My grandmother's," he said. "She gave it to me when I made detective. Said it would keep me safe." He ran his thumb across the beads. "I don't know if I believe anymore. But I still carry it on operations."
"Because it works?"
"Because it reminds me why I'm doing this. Justice. Protection. Making the world a little less evil." He tucked the rosary away. "Elena noticed. She didn't say anything, but she noticed."
"She notices everything."
"That's why she's valuable." Santos met my eyes. "We're going to kill a man tomorrow. Probably several men. Some of them might have families, kids, people who love them. It's easy to forget that when you're planning operations and assigning targets."
"I haven't forgotten."
"I know. That's why I follow you." He turned and walked toward his corner of the warehouse, leaving me alone with the intelligence wall and the weight of tomorrow.
The team scattered to rest, though I doubted anyone would sleep well. Pre-mission anxiety was normal—even healthy—but it made the hours before an operation feel endless.
I stayed at the intelligence wall, running through the plan one final time.
Fire alarm triggers at 12:02 PM—two minutes after McKinnon's scheduled arrival, long enough for him to settle into the booth but not long enough for the meeting to conclude.
Evacuation begins immediately. Civilians stream toward the exits, creating confusion and blocking sight lines.
Bear and I enter at 12:03 PM. Thirty seconds to move through the evacuating crowd and engage the interior guards. Another thirty seconds to reach McKinnon and neutralize remaining threats.
Santos covers the rear exit throughout. Anyone who tries to flee meets a former NYPD detective with a very personal grudge against criminals.
Total operation time: two and a half minutes, well within our four-minute window.
"It looks good on paper. Operations always look good on paper."
The reality would be messier. Guards would react in unexpected ways. Civilians would panic and become obstacles. McKinnon might be faster or smarter or luckier than our intelligence suggested. A thousand things could go wrong, and we'd have to adapt to each one in real-time.
But that was the nature of combat. You planned for the probable, trained for the possible, and improvised when neither matched reality.
Tomorrow, we'd find out which scenario applied.
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