The FBI has 56 field offices across the United States, each with its own SWAT team. The team assisting Jack and Rossi came from Denver and was well-versed in search and arrest operations. They even brought a lightweight helicopter for this mission.
After reviewing the Mashak brothers' profiles, Jack decided to rattle the cage first rather than kicking down the door. Although this militia group was far less organized than the ones in Montana, the possibility that they might have anti-air missiles meant they could also possess other explosives.
If they rushed in too quickly, the suspects might resort to desperate measures, like firing an RPG or detonating explosives, potentially causing unnecessary casualties.
After studying the layout of the Mashak brothers' farm, Jack requested the local police send over seven or eight patrol cars, blaring sirens and flashing lights to make a grand entrance. Meanwhile, Jack, Rossi, and the SWAT team positioned themselves behind the farm on a forest road.
Sure enough, when the police cars were still about a mile away, the people on the farm were alerted. Amidst the chaos, two Nissan pickup trucks started up, driving without lights toward the back road behind the farm.
Everything was seen by the SWAT officers equipped with night-vision goggles. The moment the front tire of the lead truck hit a tire spike, an armored police vehicle roared out of the woods.
The reinforced bumper of the armored vehicle slammed into the second pickup truck's rear, sending its back wheels flying. Sirens blared, and police lights flashed.
A police light armored vehicle blocked the front of the first pickup, and the truck-mounted spotlight shone so brightly it could blind anyone.
Heavily armed SWAT officers rushed in. This mission was about capturing suspects, not neutralizing threats like regular police might. They wouldn't just unload their magazines at the first sign of resistance.
"Don't move!"
"Hands up!"
"Put your hands where I can see them!"
"FBI! Hands up! Get out of the vehicle!"
Rossi, looking formidable with a shotgun in hand, stood in front of the vehicles, radiating a dangerous intensity, completely unlike his usual scholarly demeanor.
"Open the door, don't make me shoot!"
Jack took the lead, pointing the barrel of his Noveske N4 through the truck's window, aiming directly at David Mashak's head.
Unlike his panicked and wailing brother in the passenger seat, David Mashak remained much calmer. Even when Jack dragged him out and pinned him against the truck, he continued shouting, "I know my rights! I want a lawyer!"
"Sorry, terrorists don't get rights," Jack replied, cuffing him. A SWAT officer put a black hood over his head and shoved him into a waiting Suburban.
The vehicle drove back to the farm, where local police and FBI agents were already searching the house, barns, and other outbuildings.
After the SWAT team cleared a barn on the other side of the farm, they brought David Mashak inside, then left, closing the door behind them, leaving only Jack and Rossi with him.
"Shhkk!"
The black hood was ripped off David Mashak's head, and he blinked, adjusting to the sudden change in light. He realized he was still on his own farm and not at the police station, and for the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face.
"David Mashak, you're in big trouble. Be honest with us, and maybe I can help you get a better cell in Guantanamo," Jack said, pushing him down onto a rough wooden chair beside a crude table.
A powerful flashlight was placed in front of David, the beam directly in his face, making it hard for him to keep his eyes open. Meanwhile, Jack sat opposite him, hiding most of his face in the shadows, resembling a villain in a movie.
David Mashak was short but stocky, sporting a neatly trimmed mustache and a slick side-parted hairstyle, exuding a greasy, untrustworthy vibe.
"I have nothing to say. You're violating my rights!" He stiffened his neck, acting like he wouldn't budge.
Jack felt uncertain. Despite setting up a classic FBI interrogation scene that implied coercion, this guy was still asking for a lawyer. Did he not understand the implication of Guantanamo?
Jack glanced at Rossi, who was just as puzzled. Was David Mashak playing dumb, or was he genuinely not afraid?
"Go ahead," Rossi said, sighing. He stepped aside, grabbed a bucket of water, and pulled a towel from his pocket.
"Let's try my way first."
Seeing David Mashak looking confusedly at the towel in Rossi's hand, it was clear he hadn't yet realized what was about to happen. Jack began to worry—could this guy really be that clueless?
"Tell me, did you do it?"
Jack gently grasped David's left hand and continued questioning, but the man still looked confused.
"I want to see a lawyer!"
Before David could finish speaking, Jack gave a quick twist, and David's left hand went limp.
"Ah!"
Pain shot through David Mashak, and he screamed as his dislocated wrist throbbed in agony.
"You bastard, what did you do? You broke my hand! I'm going to sue you!"
Jack said nothing. He swiftly twisted David's wrist back into place with a sharp *pop*. The pain vanished, and the man was stunned into silence.
"How did you do that?"
Jack was speechless at the man's curiosity. He moved his hands higher, grasping his elbow with one hand and his upper arm with the other. A quick pull and twist dislocated David's elbow.
"Ow!"
Before the pain in his wrist had fully subsided, a more intense pain shot through his elbow, causing David to scream again.
He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and it was easy to see his bone protruding under the skin, creating a frightening shape. His voice trembled as he spoke.
"What did you do to me? Help! Help!"
"Shut up!" Jack commanded. With another swift move, he popped David's elbow back into place. The pain vanished, and David immediately stopped struggling, though his eyes were now filled with terror.
"The human skeleton is made up of 206 bones—29 in the skull, 51 in the torso, and 126 in the limbs. These bones are controlled by 650 muscles and over a hundred joints. Of these joints, 78 have specific names. I can manipulate about 60 of them, and most of the time, I can put them back in place. Don't worry, there won't be any lasting damage, and no doctor will ever be able to tell."
Jack's smile, illuminated by the light, took on a chilling and sinister tone.
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