Chapter 12 - Fire in the Courtyard
The attack came at 2:14 a.m. The rain had started, drumming a relentless, heavy rhythm against the corrugated tin roof of the warehouse. I was standing near the window of the command post when the security monitors flickered. Two black SUVs rolled past the outer gate without turning on their headlights, cutting their engines fifty yards out. Men in tactical gear, faces hidden behind matte black balaclavas, poured from the doors carrying suppressed carbines.
"They're breaching the side loading dock," Viktor muttered through the comms earpiece, his breathing controlled and steady. "I've got the second-floor stairwell secured."
"Hold your fire until they clear the outer threshold," I instructed, my thumb resting on the safety of my weapon. "I want at least one of them talking before the night is over."
The heavy steel loading door groaned as a hydraulic breaching charge blew the hinges inward with a muffled, concussive thud. Smoke and gray dust billowed into the dim corridor. The mercenaries flooded in, moving with professional precision, their weapon lights sweeping the corners. But they had underestimated the layout, and they had underestimated me.
Viktor opened fire from the upper gantry, his suppressors spitting a rhythmic, deadly cadence that dropped the lead two operatives before they could raise their barrels. I moved out from the shadow of the structural pillar, my weapon leveled at the man stumbling backward through the dust. I grabbed him by the tactical vest, slammed him hard against the concrete pillar until his weapon clattered to the floor, and pressed the cold barrel of my pistol directly beneath his chin.
"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut through the ringing in his ears. "Give me a name, or this is your last conversation."
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The man choked out a bitter laugh, blood spitting from his split lip. "You think... you think Sterling is the top of the food chain? You just signed your own death warrant..."
Before he could finish, a sniper round from the treeline shattered the high warehouse window, piercing his chest and silencing him instantly. I hit the deck, rolling behind a stack of concrete barriers as automatic gunfire chewed up the drywall overhead. The real mastermind was still out there, watching every move we made.
