Chapter 26 - BLOOD ON THE WATER
The maintenance hatch opened into a cavernous, dimly lit corridor filled with the hiss of ancient steam pipes and the smell of stale diesel oil. Vincent climbed through first, weapon raised, clearing the corners with swift, surgical movements. Elena followed immediately behind him, her suppressed submachine gun held high against her chest.
Two mercenary guards sat on plastic crates twenty feet away, sharing a thermos of coffee, their assault rifles propped against the damp wall.
They never knew what hit them.
Two nearly silent *thwips* echoed down the corridor. Both men slumped forward, dead before they hit the concrete.
Vincent dragged the bodies into an empty storage alcove while Elena secured their dropped keycards. “Sub-level three is clear,” Elena whispered into the comms. “Moving toward the primary holding cells.”
They advanced like twin shadows through the belly of the fortress. The blueprints Daniel had left behind were extraordinarily accurate; every security sensor, every dead angle, and every junction box matched the reality of the bunker. Daniel Bennett had truly spent years preparing for this reckoning.
As they reached the heavy blast door marked *SECTOR C*, the faint, unmistakable sound of a child crying reached their ears.
Vincent froze, every muscle in his back locking tight.
“Daddy… Mommy… please…” Grace’s tiny voice whimpered through the thick steel.
Vincent’s jaw tightened until the bone cracked audibly. He looked at Elena, giving her a three-finger countdown.
*Three. Two. One.*
Elena swiped the stolen keycard. The heavy magnetic locks disengaged with a loud hydraulic clunk, and Vincent kicked the heavy steel door open with the force of a battering ram.
Inside the concrete bunker, tied to a wooden chair in the center of the room, was seven-year-old Grace. Her face was smeared with dust and tears, but she was unharmed.
“Grace!” Elena choked out, rushing forward to cut the zip-ties binding her wrists.
“Mommy!” the little girl wailed, burying her face into Elena’s shoulder as the restraints fell away.
Vincent swept the room with his barrel, but the space was completely empty. No guards. No mercenaries.
Then, a metallic click echoed through the intercom speaker bolted to the ceiling.
May you like
“A touching family reunion,” Julian Sterling’s mocking voice purred from the speaker. “You really are predictable, Vincent. You always were.”
***
