Chapter 60

Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, Downtown Los Angeles, California, United States

"What do you mean the trucks have been destroyed?" Barry Fer yelled over the comms. "That's simply unacceptable."

He shook his head, vibrating with anger as he marched through the construction tunnels, to the back of the vault. He'd come too far to back down now. Barry didn't care if Taylor's shifty ways of doing things got him in trouble with the Rogue Riders. He wasn't letting some dragons deter him from transporting his riches. This ended tonight. The Chief of Police was getting his island in the Caribbean and getting away from this wretched city.

"Just find some transport!" he bellowed over the comm. "I don't care if you have to steal an ice cream truck. Just meet me at the rendezvous point in five minutes. We're detonating now."

He switched off the channel for the comms, needing complete concentration for what happened next. It was time to put in the codes for the explosive. His team had been working for weeks to install the bombs strategically into place. They'd done this under the guise of fixing the exterior walls on the back of the bank. They had filed a seemingly authentic report from a building inspector that there was dry rot all along the old building.

Barry Fer marveled at the perks of his job. As the Chief of Police, he could make so many things happen. And when the new Commissioner, Charlie Sloane, made him realize how they could use this position to their advantage, the possibilities became endless.

They'd put everything meticulously into place over the last several weeks, all for this moment. Barry Fer had reorganized the entire LAPD so that it worked to their advantage. He'd gotten rid of the troublemakers, keeping only those who could help him either to keep the city at bay or make him richer. He'd used his position to get into the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco to lay the groundwork for this major heist.

Charlie Sloane was smart and he knew that this had to look like an outside job. It had to reek of the mafia or the Mexican cartel. That's why even though Barry had access to the bank vault through the emergency plans in Major Crimes Division of the LAPD headquarters, they didn't use it. Instead, they laid the groundwork for the need for a construction zone. And after these explosives blew and the vault was emptied out, it would look exactly like some elaborate job done by the mob.

Motioning to his men, he commanded them to take their mark. The time was now. He wouldn't wait another second for what he truly deserved—the pension for years of service.

As Barry, and his team of rogue police officers, stood before the back of the imposing vault wall, the air crackled with anticipation. The once-impenetrable barrier now seemed like a mere obstacle, thanks to the cutting-edge explosives they had meticulously wired along its back. Barry's hand clenched the detonation code generator, his fingers poised to enter the intricate sequence of numbers that would turn this fortress of finance into little more than a dream.

He took a deep breath, the silence broken only by the soft beeps of the detonator as he began to input the digits. The device hummed with power. Its advanced technology promised a surgical strike that would leave the vault's contents untouched while rendering its defenses useless.

Beside him, Barry's men exchanged glances—their faces a mixture of excitement and trepidation beneath the plastic construction tarps that billowed gently in the breeze. With a nod, Barry pressed the final sequence of buttons, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a silent pulse of energy rippled through the air. The vault wall seemed to shimmer and then shatter like a pane of tempered glass.

"Back up," Barry encouraged, not knowing exactly how far the blast would be felt. He'd been assured that it would implode, not causing much commotion. That was the point, since it couldn't destroy the contents of the vault or harm those on the other side.

Still, the men scattered to the other end of the tarp walls. Barry simply covered his head as a silent blast rocketed through the air. To his amazement, it had worked. The fragments of a reinforced wall simply crumbled away, leaving a hole that gaped like the maw of some great beast.

No alarms sounded, the explosives having done their job with surgical precision. The construction around the bank had provided the perfect cover, the alarms and security systems disabled by a careful dance of sabotage and subterfuge. Barry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, the rush of victory surging through his veins like a drug.

He stepped through the swirling dust and debris, his men following close behind. The vault was a cavernous space, its walls lined with stacks of gold and treasures that glittered in the dim light. Barry's eyes widened, his mind reeling at the sheer scale of the wealth that lay before him. It was a king's ransom—and it was all within his grasp.

Stepping forward, Barry longed to be the first to touch the treasure they'd worked for. He reached for the nearest stack of gold, his heart stopping for a moment with anticipation. Before his fingers found their prize, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Barry gasped, his heart feeling like it had really stopped. The assault to his chest felt like the start of a heart attack. But he forced himself to breathe again as his mind tried to comprehend what was happening.

Standing before him, having been hiding in the shadows was Captain Tom Neal. He was the man Barry had fired for his unwavering commitment to justice. It made no sense that he would be here, in the locked vault. But as the noises of others in the area rippled through the air, it all started to dawn on Barry—he'd been caught. Panic raced through him and all he could think of was winning. Of surviving. Of not backing down from the fight he'd sacrificed everything for.

Everyone tensed, no one making a move. Neal's face was a mask of determination, his eyes blazing with a righteous fury that seemed to fill the entire vault.

"It's over, Barry," Neal said, his voice echoing off the walls. "We have you surrounded. You've been caught." He nodded to Barry's hand, still outstretched, not having touched the gold bar yet. "And red-handed."

Barry sneered, redirecting his hand, waving at his men behind him. They instantly took the command, striding forward and fanning out, their weapons trained on the former captain. "You think you can stop me, Neal? You're nothing but a washed-up cop with a termination notice. I don't know how you and your team did this, but you're going to pay." He glanced at the figures standing behind Neal, faces that he recognized. That didn't bother him though. His men were ruthless. When this showdown happened, they'd be the ones who survived.

"This isn't going to be a blood bath," Neal said, lowering his chin at the other man. "You will surrender and no one is going to get hurt."

Barry laughed coldly, shaking his head. "We're playing by my rules. My men will leave most of yours alive, how about that? But I'm painting you as the mastermind behind this heist, and no one will question it. Your body will be just another casualty in this little game of ours, which works out nicely and I can still make off with the gold."

But even as the words left his lips, another figure stepped out from behind a stack of crates. It was a woman, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, her eyes glinting with a steely resolve. She held up a badge, the letters "FBI" gleaming in the dim light.

Barry couldn't comprehend what was happening. How? None of this made sense. And suddenly he wished he was wired with explosives and could detonate right there, ending himself and everyone in the vault.

"I'm Special Agent Sabrina Justin, FBI," she said, her voice calm and level. "We've got this place surrounded, and we heard every word of your little confession, Barry Fer. Your men are disoriented, and your plan is in shambles. It's time to face the consequences of your actions."

Barry's face twisted with rage, his hand tightening on his weapon. But even as he prepared to give the order to fire, he knew it was futile. The Special Agent pointed up to the high shelves above them where guards with guns were stationed. Barry spied from his peripheral as his men lowered their weapons. Neal had strangely thwarted his plan. The FBI had outmaneuvered him, and his own men were wavering, their loyalty crumbling in the face of the truth.

All at once, the FBI agents swarmed into the vault, their weapons trained on the corrupt officers. Barry felt the weight of his defeat settle on his shoulders like a sinking ship. He had gambled everything on this one last score, and he had lost. The gig was up, and his short time as Chief of Police had come to a humiliating end.

Barry Fer had no idea how his ingenious plan had been foiled. He and Charlie Sloane had thought of everything. They'd covered all their bases. But somehow, someway, he'd been caught. And for some reason, Barry didn't think that Neal had been his undoing. The man was much too narrowly focused to see the scope of an operation like this. No, it had to be someone much cleverer and strategic. And as the handcuffs clinked onto Barry's wrist, he vowed to find out who would be the reason that he rotted in prison rather than bathed in the sunlight on his private beach.