Chapter 5
The billow of grey smoke quickly turned into a thick, choking black cloud that rolled across the manicured lawns, obscuring the pristine white facade of number 442. Sirens began to wail in the distance, a chaotic chorus of first responders answering the automated fire alarms triggered by the internal purge system.
"Move!" Commander Hayes roared, shoving Miller toward the backseat of the unmarked Internal Affairs SUV. "Marcus, secure the perimeter. Sarah, with me. We are going through the side entrance before the hard drives completely melt down."
Marcus didn't hesitate. He drew his service weapon, his eyes locked on the burning house, his mind racing to process Miller’s final warning about the municipal surplus firearms. Could the entire department really be built on a foundation of systemic corruption? He shook the thought away, focusing entirely on the tactical reality unfolding before him.
Inside the SUV, Miller sat in total darkness, the bulletproof partition separating her from the front seat feeling like a cage within a cage. Through the reinforced glass, she watched the chaos erupting on the street. Neighbors were stepping out onto their porches, shielding their eyes from the smoke, filming the unfolding drama with their smartphones.
Suddenly, a sharp tap sounded against the rear window.
Miller flinched, turning her head. Standing outside the vehicle, partially obscured by the rolling black smoke, was a man in a tailored grey suit. He wasn't wearing a police uniform, nor was he part of the federal team. His face was unremarkable, the kind of face you forgot the second you looked away. But his eyes were locked directly onto Miller with chilling intensity.
The man raised his right hand and pressed a small, silver remote control against the glass.
A tiny green light on the remote blinked once.
Across the street, the dashboard of the parked police cruiser—the very cruiser Miller had been leaning against just minutes ago—suddenly sparked violently. The onboard computer terminal flared with a blinding white light, short-circuiting in a cascade of electrical fire.
Miller pressed herself against the opposite door, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She realized then that the fire at 442 wasn't just an evidence burn; it was a distraction.
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The man in the grey suit mouthed three words through the glass before turning and vanishing into the smoke.
"They have her."
