"I have an idea that I need your help to improve. Superintendent Anderson sent me the information of the Southern Front. Let's discuss it together." Jack waved his phone at John, his voice carrying the excitement of someone who had stayed up half the night piecing together fragments of data into a plan.
The next morning, Jack and John rushed into the Wilshire station before sunrise. They intercepted Superintendent Gray in the hallway, dragging the usually stone-faced commander toward Zoe's office. Gray protested at every step, but Jack's persistence won out. For over an hour, the three of them remained behind closed doors with Zoe, voices rising and falling in heated discussion.
When the office door finally opened, Superintendent Gray emerged first, his jaw clenched tight, muttering as if forced to swallow vinegar.
"You are the most audacious guy I have ever met, Officer Tavola!" Gray growled, throwing a dark glare at Jack.
John, loyal as ever, stepped in to shield his partner. "But you can't deny that this is a genius plan. If it succeeds, we can—"
"Of course I understand," Gray snapped, cutting him off. "That's why I didn't strongly object. But from this moment, only a limited number of people are authorized to know the details. One wrong leak and the entire thing collapses before it begins."
He jabbed a finger at both of them. "The briefing starts soon. You have five minutes to get changed and make yourselves presentable."
"Yes, Commander," Jack and John replied in unison before jogging down to the locker room.
The Briefing
The briefing room was unusually packed that morning. Detectives from several divisions crowded the long tables, and at the front sat Superintendent Ben Sikora of the Anti-Drug and Narcotics Division. The air buzzed with anticipation, everyone eager to hear what the department would do in response to the brazen Southern Front attack.
"Sorry I'm late," Tim announced dramatically as he rose to clap. He wasn't clapping for himself, but for John, who entered the room with the calm dignity of a man who'd walked through hell and come out alive.
Jack stayed behind near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, also smiling and applauding. This was John's moment of recognition, and Jack had no intention of stealing his friend's thunder.
Even among hardened police officers, few dared to stand against a gang with thousands of members, let alone a rookie with only a few months in uniform. The applause was long and genuine, echoing around the room.
Once the crowd settled, Zoe took the podium. Her crisp voice silenced the whispers.
"Yesterday, the Southern Front attempted to murder one of our officers. Today, it's our turn to strike back. Superintendent Gray will now brief you on the details."
Gray stepped up, remote in hand, his voice steady as he began the history lesson.
"Fifteen years ago, the Southern Front was founded inside the state prison system by white supremacist inmates. Since then, it has spread across California, branching into drug trafficking, pornography, extortion, and weapons smuggling. Unlike street-corner gangs, their reach includes arms deals, making them exceptionally dangerous."
He clicked the remote. A grainy photo of a man in his sixties, gray Mohawk and cold eyes, appeared on the projector.
"This is their founder and leader, known as King Midas. He is currently serving three consecutive life sentences. But do not be fooled—he still issues orders from inside prison."
The next slide revealed a younger man with a slouched posture and dull eyes.
"His son, Cole, runs their street operations. Lazy, incompetent, and reckless—but still dangerous under his father's shadow. It was Cole who signed the bounty on Officer Nolan."
Murmurs spread across the room. Gray raised his voice to cut through them. "Forcing Cole to rescind the order would be humiliating. Instead, we hit them where it hurts—on the streets. We dismantle their businesses and disrupt their cash flow before moving up the ladder."
Jack bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a sarcastic laugh. The "American way," he thought. Instead of striking the head, they planned to nibble away at the tail. In his mind, the obvious answer was overwhelming force—National Guard, federal task forces, anyone with bigger guns. But he kept quiet. In this world, TV-logic prevailed.
The Real Plan
When the general briefing concluded, most of the officers were dismissed. Only John, Jack, Angela, Tim, Nila, and a few select detectives were asked to remain. A broad-shouldered, bald black man entered, his muscular frame filling the doorway. His black short-sleeved shirt bore the SWAT insignia.
"This is Daniel Harrison, team leader of SWAT. He and his squad will provide backup support," Zoe introduced.
Then, with deliberate weight, she turned toward Jack. "Next, Officer Tavola will explain our actual plan."
Fifteen minutes later, the room was silent, every eye locked on Jack. What he had laid out was audacious, risky, yet disturbingly logical.
"…And that," Jack finished, pointing to the map spread across the table, "is how we can cripple their operations without walking into their trap."
The silence broke when Harrison stepped forward, extending his hand. "Let me reintroduce myself. Everyone calls me Hondo. And I'll say this, officer—your plan is bold, thorough, and groundbreaking."
Jack shook his hand, feeling the man's crushing grip. He remembered catching a few episodes of S.W.A.T. in his past life. While he'd found the writing too politically correct, he couldn't deny Hondo's competence.
"I heard you're a good shot," Hondo added with a rare grin. "Come train with us sometime. My team could use someone like you."
The offer was tempting. Jack had no desire to formally join SWAT, but sparring with their muscle-bound shooters on their private range? That sounded like fun.
Angela sauntered over, her grin mischievous. She pulled a tiny Beretta 950 from her ankle holster and pressed it into Jack's palm. "Didn't expect you to be the brains behind this. Keep this as a backup—consider it a spare pair of underwear."
Jack frowned at the toy-sized pistol but pocketed it without complaint.
The Crackdown
By afternoon, the Wilshire holding cells were overflowing. In a coordinated sweep, LAPD and LASD officers raided dozens of Southern Front operations—brothels, stash houses, even their network of illegal taxis. Weapons, drugs, and cash piled up on evidence tables.
Lucy, walking past the cells, turned to her mentor in confusion. "Why couldn't we have shut them down earlier? We had all the intel."
Tim sighed, shaking his head. "Take down one gang, another grows in its place. Usually, it's not worth burning resources. But today? Today is different. This is about sending a message."
Before Lucy could respond, Tim's eyes widened. Through the glass wall of the conference room, Commissioner Anderson stood in casual clothes beside a tall blonde woman in uniform, her shoulders marked with the insignia of a Commissioner. They were speaking quietly, their posture signaling transition.
Lucy tugged Tim's sleeve. "Wait… is that the new Commissioner? Now of all times?"
Tim didn't answer. His expression tightened as recognition dawned on him, but before Lucy pressed further, he grabbed her arm and steered her down the hall.
Moments later, John stepped into the same room, the glass wall shutting him off from the others.
The pieces on the board were moving, and Jack knew the real game was just beginning.
(End of Chapter 48)