Page 64 of Montana Justice

My pulse quickened. They’d moved something heavy, and not long ago. We followed the marks to a loading dock, where the scratches ended abruptly.

“Alpha team, we’ve got oil stains here,” Beckett reported. “Fresh. Multiple vehicles, big ones from the spread pattern.”

This was it. We were close.

“I need a door breach on that office complex,” I ordered, pointing to a series of rooms along the west wall. “Could be their command center.”

The second ram team moved up, ready to?—

“Stop! Nobody fucking move!”

Martinez’s shout froze everyone mid-stride. He stood near a support pillar, his flashlight beam locked on something at knee height.

“Trip wire,” he said, voice tight with control. “Almost walked right into it.”

My blood turned to ice. Trip wires meant explosives, meant someone expected us. Expected usspecifically.

“EOD, move up,” Kowalski ordered. The DEA’s explosive ordnance disposal tech hurried forward, already pulling out specialized gear. We formed a perimeter, weapons out, scanning for secondary devices while he worked.

The tech knelt beside the wire, movements careful and precise. “Wire’s intact, tension’s good. Following it to…” His light traced the nearly invisible line to a device mounted on the pillar. “Got the device. Small, maybe four inches square. Timer component visible.”

“How big?” I asked, already calculating blast radius, evacuation distances.

“That’s the thing…” The tech leaned closer, using a mirror to examine the device from multiple angles. “There’s no explosive material. Just a timer, battery pack, and what looks like a cellular transmitter.”

“A decoy?” Hunter moved closer, studying the setup.

“Or a signal,” I said, ice forming in my gut. “They wanted to know exactly when we arrived.”

“Device is safe,” the EOD tech announced. “No explosive components at all. Just a notification system.”

The implications hit like a punch. They’d known we were coming. Known it well enough to set up an early warning system.

“Clear the rest of the warehouse,” I ordered, but my voice carried the weight of growing certainty. “Full sweep, but watch for more trip wires.”

We moved slower now, caution replacing urgency. The office complex, empty except for an overturned desk and years of dust. A hidden room behind a false wall that Coop discovered—nothing inside but concrete and disappointment. Even the catwalks above, accessed by a rusted ladder that groaned under Aiden’s weight, deserted.

“Loading bay’s been used recently,” Beckett reported. “But it’s clean. I meanclean—someone took industrial-grade solvent to this whole area.”

I joined him at the bay, crouching to run my fingers over the concrete. The chemical smell lingered, sharp and antiseptic. They hadn’t just moved their operation—they’d erased it.

“All teams, stand down,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “Target is cold. Repeat, target is cold.”

The radio erupted with variations of disbelief and frustration. Four agencies, dozens of operators, hundreds of hours of planning—for nothing.

They’d known we were coming. Again.

I walked outside, needing air that didn’t taste like failure. The other team leaders converged near the command vehicle, a mobile unit the DEA had brought in for the operation. Dawn was breaking, painting the sky the color of a bruise.

“What the fuck happened?” Kowalski demanded, yanking off his tactical helmet. His face was flushed, whether from exertion or anger, I couldn’t tell. “This was supposed to be the score. My bosses are expecting arrests, seizures?—”

“Your bosses can get in line,” Lieutenant Morrison interrupted. “We have more man hours in this operation than you do.”

“Someone leaked,” Hunter said quietly, but his words cut through the brewing argument. “This is the fourth time. They’re getting intel from somewhere.”

Kowalski rounded on me. “Your department has a mole, Sheriff. There’s no other explanation.”

“I kept this operation compartmentalized,” I shot back. “Only two of my deputies even knew we were moving tonight.”

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