Chapter 11 - Task Force Vanguard Operatives Infiltrate The Exclusive Private Country Club
The Greenwich Elite Country Club was normally a sanctuary of untouchable wealth where society’s elite drank scotch and ignored the law.
Tonight, however, the heavy wrought-iron gates stood wide open as unmarked tactical vehicles rolled silently across the manicured golf greens.
Task Force Vanguard operatives moved with silent, lethal efficiency, securing the clubhouse perimeter and cutting all external communications.
Inside the private cigar lounge, Preston Caldwell sat sipping twenty-five-year-old whiskey with three of his wealthy fraternity brothers.
“My family’s lawyers say the federal subpoenas are just a formality. Nothing will actually stick to us,” Preston laughed arrogantly.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the lounge swung open with a loud, resounding crash that echoed through the plush leather room.
Two operatives stepped inside, their dark tactical gear unmarked except for a faint silver eagle patch stitched onto their right shoulders.
“Preston Caldwell?” one operative asked, his voice sounding like grinding stones in a subterranean bunker.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of this club before I have my father have your licenses revoked!” Preston sneered angrily.
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“Your father is currently answering federal questions in a Manhattan detention facility, Preston. You’re coming with us,” the operative said.
Before Preston could reach for his cell phone, a pair of heavy tactical zip-ties locked tightly around his wrists with ruthless speed.
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