Chapter 4 - The Sniper on the Catwalk
Cole didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed as the crimson beam danced across his sternum. ""You brought security, Vance? Amateurish.""
""I didn't bring him,"" Vance said, genuine confusion flickering across his hardened face.
A voice cut through the cavernous hangar, echoing down from the steel rafters with the dry bite of an unsuppressed megaphone. ""Drop the weapons, gentlemen, or Director Cole’s heart ends up decorating that engine cowl.""
Elena glanced up into the girders. Perched prone on the metal grating was a figure wrapped in an old ghillie shroud, holding an M24 sniper rifle. The silhouette was unmistakable.
Marek.
The logistics sergeant who had tried to reprimand her fifteen minutes ago was currently sighting down an elite private intelligence strike team.
""Sergeant Marek,"" Cole said calmly, not even glancing upward. ""Interfering with a covert asset recovery is an act of treason. Lower your rifle and you might keep your pension before the court-martial.""
""I don't know who you work for, pencil-pusher,"" Marek’s voice rang down, cold and stripped of his earlier bureaucracy. ""But you're pointing live steel at a two-star general and an Aquila veteran on my flightline. In about three seconds, my spotter outside hits the base alarm.""
Cole let out a quiet sigh, then looked back at Elena. ""A temporary complication.""
In an explosion of blinding white light, a flashbang dropped from one of the contractor's belts, detonating on the concrete floor with an ear-shattering crack. The concussive blast blew through Elena's eardrums, filling her vision with searing neon static.
Gunfire tore through the air—the rhythmic, suppressed chugs of the carbines answering the booming crack of Marek’s sniper rifle from above. Concrete chips rained down like shrapnel. Elena dropped to a low crouch, hauling Vance behind the steel workbench just as a volley of high-velocity rounds punched through the heavy sheet metal.
""Elena! The west exit!"" Vance shouted over the ringing in her ears, unholstering his weapon and returning fire with three precise, controlled shots.
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Elena fired two rounds through the smoke, driving back a contractor who was flanking the tool rack. She lunged for the small maintenance door at the rear of the hangar, kicking the latch open. ""Dad, move!""
Vance reached the threshold, shoving Elena out into the blinding midday sunlight. But as he turned to seal the door behind them, a dull thud echoed against the frame. Vance stumbled, his hand clutching his side, bright arterial red blooming through the gold braid of his service uniform.
