The sonic boom didn't just rattle the windows of the remaining tactical vehicles; it felt like it cracked the sky open. As the federal agents hit the deck, shielding their eyes from the high-altitude glare, I stared at the faint white vapor trail dissecting the atmosphere. The "Engine" wasn't buried in the ash of the clubhouse. The silo had been a production floor, but the delivery had already been made.
"They're not arresting us," Dax whispered, pushing himself off the scorched gravel. He wasn't looking at the agents; he was looking at their commander, who was frantically shouting into a satellite phone. "They’re not here for the technology. They’re here for the cleanup."
The tactical teams began to withdraw as quickly as they had arrived, their black SUVs peeling out of the lot in a sy
