Chapter 4 - The Iron Collar
Martin threw Clara behind an overturned iron engine block just as automatic gunfire shredded the surrounding timber. The deafening roar echoed within the warehouse walls, deafening Clara as spent brass casings rattled across the concrete.
“Move toward the water gate!” Martin yelled, drawing a compact pistol and firing three controlled shots into the dust cloud. A muffled grunt confirmed one pursuer had fallen.
Clara scrambled backward on hands and knees, keeping the journal shielded under her body. Through the haze of gun smoke, she caught a glimpse of the attackers. They wore unmarked black tactical gear, moving with disciplined military precision—not the private security guards from the Vance estate.
Martin fired his last round, sliding back against the iron block. “They aren't here to capture you, Clara. Julian hired the Aris Syndicate. They leave no witnesses.”
“How did they find this place?” Clara asked, her voice shaking as she pulled herself toward the rusted hatch of the water gate.
Martin looked down at her pocket. The burner phone was blinking with a rapid green pulse. “The phone. It’s hardwired with a military tracker. Julian’s people gave it to you.”
Clara gasped, pulling the phone out and hurling it across the warehouse floor. Seconds later, a grenade bounced into the corridor. Martin tackled her down the metal stairs into the lower pump chamber just as the blast ripped through the upper floor, showering them in burning debris and dust.
Clara landed hard in waist-deep, frigid canal water. The smell of raw sewage and engine oil filled her senses, but the shock of the cold kept her sharp. Martin surfaced beside her, gasping, a dark wound bleeding freely from his shoulder.
“Swim for the culvert,” Martin coughed, gesturing toward an arched storm drain leading out to the river. “It exits behind the old rail yard. Don't look back.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Clara argued, grabbing his uninjured arm to support him.
May you like
“You have to,” Martin hissed, his face pale from blood loss. “In the back of that journal, under the false spine... there’s an audio chip. It contains the last recording Mark made before Zurich. Julian didn’t just kill Eleanor tonight, Clara. He framed you for it. The news is already broadcasting your face.”
Above them, the hatch blew open, and flashlights pierced the murky water. Martin shoved Clara into the darkness of the culvert just as boots touched down on the iron ladder.
