Chapter 4 - The Lockdown
For thirty seconds, nobody moved.
Mrs. Gable looked between me and Vance, an uneasy smirk twitching on her painted lips. “What was that little charade? ‘Eagle-Six’? ‘General’? Julian, he’s having a psychotic break! He’s playing soldier!”
Vance gave a forced, dry chuckle, though a bead of sweat had formed along his receding hairline. “A very pathetic bluff, Mr. Carter. St. Jude’s is a private institution. The military has zero jurisdiction here, even if your pathetic fairy tale were true. Do you think I don't know the law? You can’t intimidate me with jargon you read on an internet forum.”
Victoria Sterling picked up her designer purse, shaking her head in disgust. “This is repulsive. I am going to wait in the courtyard until the police arrive. Brenda, darling, don’t let this trash upset you.”
She reached for the office door handle, pulled it open, and froze.
“What on earth...?” Victoria muttered.
Outside the main glass facade of the administrative building, the quiet afternoon was shattered by the rhythmic, thumping roar of a twin-engine UH-72 Lakota helicopter dropping out of the low cloud deck, hovering directly over the private academy’s manicured football field.
Before Vance could speak, the wail of sirens cut through the air. But it wasn’t the two local police cruisers Vance had requested.
Down the long, tree-lined driveway of St. Jude’s came a convoy.
Three midnight-black Chevrolet Suburbans bearing federal government plates led the pack, followed closely by two marked State Police interceptors and an armored mobile command unit from the United States Army Military Police Corps.
The heavy tires ground against the decorative gravel, throwing dust into the air as the vehicles formed a tactical perimeter, sealing off every vehicle exit from the school grounds.
“Julian...” Mrs. Gable’s voice squeaked, all the arrogance draining from her posture. “Julian, what is that?”
Vance rushed to the window, his jaw hanging open. “That’s... that’s impossible. Who authorized this? This is private property!”
Just then, two local township police cars arrived, their red-and-blue lights flashing. Chief Higgins stepped out of his vehicle, his hand resting casually on his duty belt, clearly expecting to handle a routine scuffle with an unruly blue-collar father.
Instead, Higgins found himself face-to-face with four heavily armed soldiers in full tactical gear, their rifles held at low-ready, alongside two plainclothes federal agents flashing gold badges.
Through the large office window, Vance watched in stunned horror as Chief Higgins was stopped dead in his tracks. A tall, sharply dressed officer wearing the insignia of a full Colonel stepped out of the lead Suburban, accompanied by the regional director of the State Police.
Colonel Miller pointed a finger at Higgins’ chest, spoke a few sharp, unmistakable words, and the township police chief immediately took three steps back, held his hands up in total submission, and retreated behind his squad car.
The heavy glass entrance doors of the administration building banged open.
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Boots—crisp, synchronized, and heavy—echoed down the marble corridor.
***
