Damn it. We need those verifications before we can transport him. He leaned into the car, fixing Elijah with a venomous stare. This your doing, old man? Sheriff, Elijah said calmly, those body cameras are still recording.
Might want to watch your tone. The footage uploads automatically to secure servers, the deputy added nervously. Can't access those locally. Kerns straightened up, jaw working as he surveyed the chaos around them. His carefully planned operation was unraveling.
Deputies stood around uselessly, equipment dead in their hands. Smoke still wisped from barn vents. Ruth Ann's livestream numbers kept climbing. Pull back, Kerns finally ordered. We'll regroup and return with proper documentation.
He jabbed a finger at Elijah. This isn't over. Course not, Elijah agreed mildly. But you might want to leave those drugs your deputy planted. Evidence chain of custody and all that.
The deputy, who'd been trying to process his paperwork, cursed under his breath. Sir, without system verification, we can't hold him. Fine, Kerns spat. Cut him loose, but leave two units on site. Nobody comes in or out without my approval.
The handcuffs clicked open. Elijah rubbed his wrists as he climbed out of the SUV, watching deputies scramble back to their vehicles. Only two patrol cars remained, blocking his long dirt driveway. This is just a tactical pause, Kerns growled as he climbed into his command vehicle. We'll be back with federal backup.
Elijah stood in his yard as the convoy pulled out, red dust billowing behind their retreating vehicles. He waited until they were out of sight before heading to his barn. Inside, behind a false wall panel, a hidden door led down to his underground control room. The space was cool and dark, illuminated by the soft glow of monitors. Here, surrounded by surveillance equipment and computer systems, memories of his past life surfaced.
10 years earlier at a classified training facility, "Your specialty is exceptional. " His commanding officer had said during his final briefing. "Counterinsurgency, surveillance, psychological warfare. You've mastered the art of being underestimated. " Elijah had stood at attention, still lean and sharp-edged then. "Permission to speak freely, sir? " "Granted. The best position is the one they don't know you're in.
The best weapon is the one they don't see coming. " Back in the present, Elijah settled into his command chair. The weight he'd deliberately put on over the years shifted comfortably. His slow-moving farmer's persona had been carefully crafted, a shield of assumptions that made people see what they expected. Just another aging black man trying to hold on to his land. On his main screen, he pulled up footage from the tractor shed cameras.
He watched Deputy Hollis plant the drugs again, analyzing the scene frame by frame. The bag had been ready in his vest, the location preselected. This wasn't a spontaneous act of racism, it was too organized, too prepared. "Computer, cross-reference property records with recent development applications. " He commanded. Documents filled the screen.
Land surveys, mineral rights assessments, corporate filings buried in shell companies. Elijah leaned forward, eyes narrowing as patterns emerged. The narcotics charge was just a pretext. This was about the land itself, and whatever lay beneath it that made it valuable enough to risk such a brazen seizure attempt. His security system chirped, highlighting movement at his driveway.