Commander Vance, what is the legal status of this farce? Unlawful detention, civil rights violations, and attempted theft of classified federal property, Admiral. The JAG officer replied smoothly. Under Title 18 and the National Security Act, local law enforcement has no jurisdiction. They have crossed a massive line.
Good, Cole said softly. The tone of his voice sent a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. I want a flight plan filed. Get me a C-130 on the tarmac at North Island in 20 minutes. I want an element of military police, fully armed, and I want you, Commander.
We are going to Oak Creek. I want to see the face of the man who thought he could steal from the United States Navy. Admiral, with respect, protocol usually dictates we send a liaison. I am the liaison tonight, Cole interrupted, his eyes blazing. These boys just survived an 8-month deployment in hell.
They are not spending another night in a dusty cage because some small-town tyrant wants to steal their truck. Move out. Back in Oak Creek, the night dragged on. At 3:00 a.m., the heavy rotary phone on the front desk rang, shattering the quiet. Montgomery jumped, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He picked up the receiver with a shaking hand. Oak Creek Sheriff's Department, Montgomery stammered. This is Special Agent Reynolds, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Dallas Field Office, a crisp voice stated. Am I speaking with the Sheriff? Yes, sir.
Sheriff Montgomery. Sheriff, I am officially advising you that you are holding two active-duty tier one naval special warfare operators in your facility. We have received urgent communication from the Pentagon. You are to immediately release the prisoners, secure their property, and await federal personnel. Do you understand?
Montgomery opened his mouth to reply, to apologize, to comply instantly. But before he could speak, a hand slammed down on the receiver, cutting the connection. Montgomery spun around. Deputy Boyd stood there, his face red, his eyes wide with a frantic, desperate denial. Frankie, what the hell are you doing?
That was the FBI. It was a trick, Boyd yelled, spit flying from his lips. It's their cartel buddies. They're trying to scare us into letting them go. We don't back down, Wade. We take them to Judge Higgins at dawn.
She'll sign the asset forfeiture. We take the truck, and we wash our hands of it. Montgomery looked at his deputy, realizing with horrifying clarity that Boyd was completely, dangerously delusional. But Montgomery was a coward. He lacked the spine to draw his weapon on his own deputy.
He sank back into his chair, burying his face in his hands as the clock ticked closer to morning. The morning sun hit Oak Creek like a hammer, instantly baking the moisture out of the air. At 8:30 a.m., the heavy doors of cell two swung open. Boyd stood in the doorway, baton drawn, backed by two nervous-looking junior deputies. Up, Boyd barked.