Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The mercenary held up a tactical tablet, its glowing screen displaying a live video feed of the locomotive repair barn. On the screen, two armed men were kicking down the door to Eli Vance's subterranean workshop.
""We monitored Eli’s shortwave frequencies twenty minutes ago,"" the mercenary sneered, stepping out from behind the crates. ""Briggs had a wiretap on the old precinct frequencies. Your girl is already in a trunk, soldier. Throw down the rifle, or I give the word to drop the hammer on both of them.""
David lowered the muzzle of his carbine, his finger lingering off the trigger guard. The tactical reality was cold and unforgiving: if he engaged the six men in front of him, the operatives at the barn would execute Eli and take Lily before he could cross the two miles back to the railyard.
""You're making a mistake,"" David said, his voice terrifyingly calm despite the storm raging inside him. ""You think Vance is going to pay you when this is over? You're witnesses to an abduction. The moment Briggs files his official report, every contractor on this payroll becomes a loose end.""
The mercenary laughed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. ""Nice try, Sarge. Drop the weapon. Kicking it forward. Now!""
David slowly stooped down, placing the carbine onto the concrete floor. As his knuckles touched the ground, his eyes flicked upward to the catwalk overhead.
He didn't need to throw his weapon. He had known Briggs would track the shortwave signal. That was why he had instructed Eli to leave the transmitter active on purpose.
From the high shadows of the ceiling rafters, an ear-splitting boom resonated through the warehouse.
A slug from a vintage 1895 lever-action Winchester rifle tore through the mercenary’s collarbone, hurling him backward against the shipping crates. Eli Vance hadn't stayed in the bunker; he had moved Lily to the high rafters of the railyard water tower an hour ago, circling back through the steam tunnels to flank the terminal from above.
""Take 'em, David!"" the old man's voice bellowed from the iron rafters.
David swept his hands down to his combat belt, drawing his sidearm in a continuous, lightning-fast draw. Before the remaining five mercenaries could adjust to the crossfire, David opened fire with clinical, rhythmic precision. Three men collapsed under center-mass impacts before their weapons could clear the crates. The remaining two scrambled for the reinforced stairs leading up to Vance’s executive office, firing blindly behind them.
David sprinted across the warehouse floor, stepping over the fallen, his eyes locked on the steel door at the top of the stairwell.
""Eli! Secure the perimeter!"" David barked as he bounded up the metal stairs three at a time.
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He reached the heavy door, raised his boot, and drove it directly into the locking mechanism with the full, unyielding weight of a father’s wrath. The door burst inward off its hinges.
Inside, Mark Vance was frantically stuffing stacks of cash into a leather duffel bag, while Detective Briggs stood by the open rear window, leveling his service weapon directly at David’s forehead.
