Dawkins did not get the text he wanted. Damn. He squeezed his phone until it felt fragile, then he eased his grip. Well, he couldn’t do what he wanted without having to answer for it. The risk of being by the book was no wiggle room once the cat was out of the bag. Dawkins would wait for it to happen organically, during a confrontation. People get shot all the time. He almost smiled at the thought, but a smile would be out of character.

“Sir, I think we found our target.” The driver pointed to a semi, Tomahawk chopper, and a red sleigh with a team of reindeer on the road ahead.

“Good God!” Dawkins pulled out his pistol. “It’s them!” He barked an order into his walkie talkie to the car behind him. “Get ready for war! Time to take down Santa!&r...

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