The helicopter was still idling, its blades spinning slowly.

My phone vibrated again in my pocket.

It was a long, continuous pulse.

The beacon had locked.

The tactical response was closer than Charles realized.

I looked at Mercer.

“Daniel,” I said.

“You want to think very carefully about your next move.”

Mercer hesitated.

The rain ran down his face.

“Don’t listen to him,” Charles snapped.

“He is a gardener.”

“He has nothing.”

“He has a federal active beacon,” Mercer said.

His voice was shaking slightly.

“My radio is dead, Charles.”

“The whole band is jammed.”

“That only happens during a military override.”

“I don’t care,” Charles said.

“We have the money.”

“We have the jurisdiction.”

“Shoot him.”

One of the guards took a step down the stairs.

His finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle.

I raised my weapon, aiming at the center of his chest.

The wind howled through the trees at the edge of the estate.

A branch snapped somewhere in the dark.

The searchlight swept across the lawn, turning the falling rain into a sheet of silver needles.