"You're going to raid them," Reeves said, understanding immediately.
"All of them. Simultaneously. Even if they've already moved everything, even if we find nothing, it sends a message—we know where they operate, and nowhere is safe. It'll force them to accelerate their restructuring, create pressure, maybe cause them to make mistakes."
Coe was already pulling up tactical plans on his tablet. "We'd need warrants for every location. That's a lot of paperwork, and judges don't like fishing expeditions."
"We have probable cause," Noah said. "Benjamin's intelligence establishes HTBB's use of these locations for criminal activity. The fact that they might have cleared them out doesn't invalidate that probable cause. We're executing warrants based on information provided by a federal agent who was subsequently murdered—any reasonable judge will approve them."
"When do you want to move?"
Noah checked his watch. It was 12:47 PM. "I want warrants by six PM, tactical briefing at eight PM, execution at midnight. Give them a full day to think they're safe, then hit them all at once."
Coe nodded, already making calls to coordinate with the tactical teams. Reeves was pulling up Perez's intelligence files, compiling the list of locations. The mobile command center became a hive of activity as the operation began taking shape.
Noah returned his attention to the surveillance feed of King's office. As he watched, King stood and walked to his window, looking out over the Manhattan skyline. For a moment, Noah had the irrational feeling that King was looking directly at him, that somehow across the distance and through the camera lenses, the two men were making eye contact.
Then King turned away and returned to his desk, and the moment passed.
But Noah understood what he'd seen. King knew they were coming. He was preparing, adapting, getting ready for the fight. This wasn't going to be a simple investigation with a quick resolution. This was going to be a prolonged campaign, each side testing the other, looking for weaknesses, exploiting opportunities.
Noah had been in wars like this before. He knew how to fight them.
His phone rang—Lewis, calling from the Brooklyn canvas operation. "Boss, we've got something. Traffic camera footage from last night, corner of Kingsland and Meserole, about two blocks from where we found the body."
"What am I looking at?"
"Black SUV, Chevy Suburban, driving slowly through the area around 11:15 PM. Plate comes back to a rental company, paid for with a corporate credit card registered to one of HTBB's shell companies."
Noah felt a spike of adrenaline. "Can you see who's inside?"
"Partial view. Driver and at least three passengers. Image quality isn't great, but our tech people are enhancing it. I should have clearer shots within an hour."
"Send it to Reeves for analysis the moment you have it. That vehicle might have been used to transport Perez's body."
"That's what I'm thinking. I've got people checking with the rental company, getting their records, seeing if we can establish exactly when the vehicle was rented and when it was returned."
"Good work. Keep pushing."
Noah ended the call and updated Coe and Reeves. The investigation was starting to gain traction—surveillance in place, financial tracking active, physical evidence emerging. They were still in the early stages, still establishing the foundation, but the machinery was grinding forward.
At 2:30 PM, Reeves received the enhanced images from Lewis's traffic camera footage. She pulled them up on the main screen in the command center, and everyone gathered around to study them.
The Suburban was clearly visible, driving slowly through the industrial area where Perez's body had been found. The driver was partially obscured, but in the passenger seat, a figure was clearly visible—tall, angular features, looking straight ahead.
"Can we get facial recognition on that?" Noah asked.
Reeves was already running it through their database. Seconds later, a match appeared: Vancouver Sell, 73% confidence based on partial facial features and body proportions.
"It's him," Coe said. "He was there. He was involved in dumping the body, maybe even the execution itself."
Noah stared at the image. This was the first concrete evidence linking Vancouver Sell directly to Benjamin's murder. Not enough for an arrest warrant yet—the image quality was marginal, and a defense attorney could argue the identification wasn't certain—but it was a start.
"Time stamp shows 11:15 PM," Reeves noted. "Martinez estimated time of death between ten PM and midnight. This fits. They killed him, transported the body in this vehicle, dumped it in the storm drain."
"We need that rental agreement," Noah said. "Exact times, who signed for it, when it was returned. And I want that vehicle impounded and forensics all over it. If they transported Perez in it, there'll be trace evidence—blood, DNA, something."
Coe was already on the phone, coordinating with the rental company and arranging for the vehicle to be located and impounded.
While that was in motion, Noah received an update from Judge Paish's clerk—preliminary approval on twelve search warrants for HTBB locations, final signatures expected by 5 PM. The operation was coming together.
At 4:00 PM, Noah left the mobile command center and drove back to the main DEA office for the tactical briefing. The conference room—the War Room—was packed again, this time with the full tactical team in addition to the investigators. Coe stood at the front with a digital map showing all twelve target locations spread across Brooklyn, Queens, and lower Manhattan.
"Listen up," Coe said, his voice cutting through the pre-mission chatter. "At midnight tonight, we're executing simultaneous raids on twelve locations connected to HTBB's operations. These sites were documented by Agent Perez during his two years undercover. We expect most of them have been cleared out—HTBB knows we have Perez's intelligence and they're actively restructuring. But we're hitting them anyway for three reasons."
He clicked through images of each location. "One: even if they've moved their primary operations, there might still be residual evidence—documents, forensic traces, abandoned equipment. Two: we're sending a message that we know where they operate and nowhere is safe. Three: we're creating operational pressure, forcing them to accelerate their restructuring, hopefully causing them to make mistakes we can exploit."
"Rules of engagement?" someone asked from the back.
"Standard protocols. These are search warrants, not arrest warrants—we're looking for evidence, not suspects. But HTBB is known to be violent, and they've already killed a federal agent. Approach every location as potentially hostile. Tactical teams go in first, establish security, then investigators follow for evidence collection."
Coe pulled up detailed floor plans for each location. "Team assignments are on your tablets. Team leaders, you have thirty minutes to brief your people on specific target layouts and tactical approaches. We stage at 11 PM, execute at midnight sharp. Coordination is critical—we hit all twelve simultaneously so they can't warn each other or destroy evidence."
Noah stood. "I want to emphasize something. These raids aren't primarily about what we find. They're about psychological pressure. HTBB thinks they're three steps ahead of us, restructuring faster than we can track them. We're going to show them that we're closer than they think, that we know more than they expect, and that we're not going to give them time to breathe."
He paused, looking around the room. "Benjamin Perez spent two years building the intelligence we're using tonight. He died collecting this information. We're going to make sure his work counts for something."
The room was silent, faces grim and determined.
"Alright," Coe said. "Team leaders, brief your people. Everyone else, pre-mission prep. We roll at 11 PM."
The room cleared quickly, operators heading to equipment rooms, analysts returning to their desks to provide last-minute intelligence updates, coordinators making final calls to supporting agencies.
Noah remained in the War Room, studying the map of target locations. Twelve sites, twelve teams, one coordinated strike. It was ambitious, complicated, with a lot of moving parts that could go wrong. But it was necessary.
HTBB was adapting, restructuring, trying to stay ahead of the investigation. Noah needed to disrupt that adaptation, create chaos, force them to react instead of plan.
His phone buzzed—a text from Dr. Martinez: Final autopsy report complete. Ballistics match suggests 9mm Sig Sauer, probably P226 model. Very common in professional security work. Also found trace fibers on victim's clothing—black wool, high quality. Possibly from expensive coat or suit. Full report attached.