Chapter 12 - The Hunting Ground
The rain turned into a blinding downpour over the Limmat River. Elena and Marek tracked the encrypted signal from the contractor’s tactical radio to a reinforced glass-and-steel warehouse in the industrial docks on the outskirts of Zurich.
Parked in the loading bay was a matte-black mobile satellite command rig.
Elena crouched behind a stack of rusted shipping containers, water streaming down her face. She adjusted the sling of the captured carbine. ""Cole has at least six men inside. Highly trained, night-vision capable.""
""And they think we’re running for an embassy,"" Marek noted, racking his slide. ""They aren't expecting a frontal assault.""
""It won't be frontal,"" Elena said. She pointed toward the overhead power cables feeding into the warehouse’s junction box. ""Take out the transformer. We fight in their blind spot.""
Marek nodded, moving through the shadows toward the utility pole. Elena counted down thirty seconds in her head.
Crack.
A single, precise rifle shot shattered the oil-cooled transformer. The power lines flared in a blinding blue arc before snapping, cutting off all electricity to the docks. The warehouse went entirely dark, illuminated only by the faint red glow of emergency exit signs.
Elena breached the side service door before the backup generators could spin up.
Through the green phosphorus glow of her borrowed night-vision goggles, the warehouse interior was a maze of steel shelving and cargo crates. Two contractors were moving down the center aisle, their weapons raised, scanning the shadows.
Elena stepped out from behind a palette of industrial machinery. Two three-round bursts echoed sharply inside the steel hull. Both men dropped instantly, their armor offering no protection against point-blank fire from behind.
""Breach on west quadrant!"" a voice shouted in the darkness.
Gunfire erupted across the warehouse floor. Elena vaulted over a metal storage bin, bullets tearing through the sheet metal inches from her boots. She returned fire on the muzzle flashes, advancing with ruthless, predatory precision. Every round she fired was an answered prayer for her fallen squad, for Vance, for Miller.
She cleared the lower level in ninety seconds, leaving four bodies in the shadows.
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At the far end of the warehouse, inside the glass-walled administrative office, a single silhouette stood illuminated by the glow of a burning laptop screen.
Cole.
