Chapter 4 - The Iron Tomb
The sweet, chemical odor of sevoflurane filled the corridor like invisible smoke. Sal pulled the lapel of his suit jacket over the baby's face, sheltering the infant against his chest.
""Marco! Breaching charge on the north door!"" Sal barked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins.
""Charges won't work on these reinforced magnetic locks without bringing down the ceiling, Boss!"" Marco yelled through the gloom, coughing as the heavy sedative air settled around them. ""They severed the central grid. Someone inside hospital administration is on their payroll.""
Julian was already crawling on the floor, weeping and wheezing. ""We’re going to suffocate. We’re going to die here!""
Sal stepped over Julian without a second glance. He reached Elena, who was swaying, her eyelids growing heavy under the fast-acting neuro-sedative. ""Elena! Stay with me. Look at my eyes. Focus!"" Sal slapped her cheek lightly, shocking her nervous system back into alertness. ""Take off your silk slip. Soak it in the sink. Put it over your mouth!""
She nodded weakly, fumbling toward the bathroom vanity while Sal assessed the room. The exterior windows were reinforced hurricane glass—impenetrable to standard calibers, designed to prevent suicides and storms. But Sal hadn't arrived alone; he had a perimeter team outside the hospital.
He pulled a tactical transponder from his inner pocket, clicking the toggle three times.
A static burst crackled in his earpiece. ""Mr. Moretti? This is Viper Team at the perimeter. The hospital went dark. We lost all CCTV.""
""Sniper team on the adjacent garage,"" Sal spoke calmly into the lapel mic. ""Window 408. North wing. Punch a hole through the tempered pane. High-caliber anti-material. On my mark.""
""Understood. Stand clear of the glass.""
Sal dragged Elena to the interior wall, shielding her and the baby with his heavy frame. He looked down at Julian, who was convulsing on the floor from inhaling too much vapor. ""Crawl to the corner if you want to breathe, coward.""
""Mark in three... two... one... fire!""
The heavy crack of a .50 caliber sniper rifle echoed from across the street. The heavy glass pane fractured into a spiderweb before exploding outward into the rainy night. Fresh, cold autumn wind flooded the room, blowing the chemical fog out into the hallway.
May you like
Sal breathed in the sharp, cold air. Through the shattered window, looking across the hospital rooftop opposite them, Sal saw a man standing under an umbrella, illuminated by a lighter as he lit a cigarette. Even through the rain, Sal recognized the silhouette.
It was Victor Cole—the man Sal thought he had thrown into the East River twenty-five years ago.
