Chapter 12 - The Iron Retribution
Metal screamed against metal. Glass exploded inward as the impact jolted Mark against the door frame.
""Ambush!"" Marcus yelled, drawing his sidearm and kicking his door open into the rain. ""Stay down, Mark!""
The highway was dark, flanked by dense pine forests on the outskirts of the metropolitan area. The armored truck that had rammed the lead cruiser blocked both northbound lanes. Its heavy rear doors swung open, and four men dressed in unmarked tactical gear emerged, firing suppressed automatic rifles into the convoy.
""Julian had a kill-switch protocol,"" Marcus shouted, returning fire from behind the car's engine block. ""If the tower went dark, his private contractors were ordered to eliminate every asset tied to the investigation! They aren't trying to capture you—they're executing everyone!""
Mark looked around the sedan. The driver was unconscious, slumped over the steering wheel, his head bleeding onto the deployed airbag. On the passenger floorboards lay a tactical shotgun and two spare magazines for Marcus’s sidearm.
Mark didn't ask for permission. He scrambled into the front seat, racked the shotgun slide, and kicked open the passenger door.
""What are you doing?"" Marcus shouted over the crack of gunfire.
""I promised Lily I would come back,"" Mark growled, rolling onto the wet asphalt beneath the highway guardrail.
The mercenaries advanced in a tight diamond formation, pinning Marcus behind the sedan's crumpled hood. They were seasoned killers, moving with cold, calculated precision, oblivious to the fact that Mark had crawled into the culvert beneath their flanking route.
Mark emerged from the tall, wet grass on their left flank.
The first blast from the twelve-gauge tore through the lead gunner’s torso, dropping him instantly into the mud. Before the remaining three could rotate their barrels, Mark fired a second shell into the pavement at their feet, spraying asphalt fragments and buckshot that fractured the team's cohesion.
Marcus capitalized on the distraction, leaning around the sedan's fender to take down the second contractor with two clean center-mass shots.
The last two mercenaries broke discipline, scrambling back toward their armored truck. But the driver of the armored truck panicked, throwing the vehicle into reverse and abandoning his men, tires screeching as he fled down the rain-slicked highway.
The remaining two contractors dropped their weapons into the weeds, raising their hands as sirens wailed in the distance.
Mark stood in the rain, the hot barrel of the shotgun smoking in his hands. His suit was shredded, his knuckles raw, but his breath was steady.
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Marcus stepped out from behind the car, holstering his weapon with a look of stunned respect. ""Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?""
""I was a combat engineer before I became an accountant,"" Mark said, tossing the empty shotgun onto the hood of the wrecked sedan. ""Get another car, Marcus. I have an appointment in Montana.""
