Chapter 15
Back at the iron foundry, the artificial storm of compressed air had finally subsided, leaving behind a heavy, settling fog of iron dust and damp mist. The mercenaries realized too late that they had been chasing a ghost.
"It was a decoy! She’s not at the ore-crusher! Sweep the perimeter toward the drainage pipe!" the lead mercenary screamed, his accent thick with fury as he slammed his fist against a rusted pillar.
From her vantage point fifty feet up on a cross-beam near the roof trusses, Brooke watched them move away. Her dark hair was matted with sweat and soot, her breathing even and controlled. She had used the verticality of the foundry to her advantage, climbing the old maintenance ladder while they were distracted by the pneumatic valve.
Below her, she could see the co-pilot cautiously emerging from beneath the rubber sheeting near the slag hopper, holding Luna’s carrier while dragging Leo’s with his other hand. He was making a break for the municipal drainage pipe set into the concrete floor at the far corner of the building.
"Move, move, move," Brooke whispered to herself, tracking their progress through the scope of her Sig Sauer.
Suddenly, the heavy iron door at the opposite end of the foundry creaked open, admitting a fresh gust of freezing rain and two more heavily armed figures. But these weren't Romanov mercenaries.
They wore tailored black suits beneath tactical vests, and their faces were obscured by professional-grade communication headsets. One of them stepped aside, holding the door wide open.
A man walked through.
Garrett Hale.
He looked unhinged. His dark wavy hair was windblown, his expensive white shirt stained with mud, his black tie completely missing. He wasn't wearing a coat, shivering violently in the freezing draft, but his eyes burned with the manic, terrifying energy of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"Where is she?" Garrett screamed, his voice echoing off the iron walls. "I know she's here! The tracker on the medical transport pinged this sector!"
The mercenaries who had been chasing shadows in the upper tiers spun around, lowering their weapons as the lead mercenary stepped forward to brief Garrett. "Mr. Hale. The asset is on foot. We have the exits covered. She can't escape."
May you like
"I don't want her cornered!" Garrett shrieked, striking the mercenary across the face with the heavy metal flashlight he was carrying. "I want her alive! I want her to watch while I take those children back and burn her precious family name to the ground!"
Up on the cross-beam, Brooke felt a cold, murderous fury ignite in her chest. She adjusted her grip on the Sig Sauer, aligning the glowing iron sights directly with the center of Garrett’s forehead. It would be so easy. One gentle squeeze of the trigger, and the nightmare would end permanently.
