Chapter 14 - The Interrogation
The heavy steel shutters of the study were retracted just enough to let in the cool, rain-washed air of the Manhattan night. The two mercenaries were bound securely to heavy oak chairs with reinforced industrial zip-ties, their tactical gear stripped away, leaving them exposed and neutralized.
Marcus stepped out of the private elevator accompanied by three armed federal marshals who had been waiting in the subterranean parking garage on standby.
Marcus looked down at the bound operatives, then over at me, raising an eyebrow in silent admiration. "You handled a professional extraction team with a smoke valve and a security breaker? Remind me never to get on your bad side, Sophia."
"They underestimated the terrain," I replied coolly, walking over to the desk and picking up the encrypted burner phone dropped by the lead operative during the scuffle. "And more importantly, they underestimated how much data Alexander left behind before his arrest."
I tossed the burner phone onto the desk in front of the lead operative—a scarred, cold-eyed veteran whose tactical patch had been cleanly ripped off his uniform.
"Your boss, Director K," I said, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk and looking down at him with unblinking composure. "Who are they? And where is the main node of the Eastern European syndicate network located?"
The operative spat a small drop of blood onto the Persian rug, glaring up at me with open defiance. "You think locking us up in a penthouse changes anything, princess? Director K isn't just a corporate manager. He’s tied into state intelligence networks. You’ll be found floating in the East River before the sun comes up."
Marcus stepped forward, his expression hard. "That's cute. But here’s the reality: your comms units were broadcasting on a closed-loop frequency that our forensic team cloned the second you stepped off the elevator. We already traced the transmission relay back to an abandoned maritime warehouse in Newark. Federal tactical units are already moving in as we speak."
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The operative’s face drained of color. The tough-guy facade instantly crumbled, replaced by the cold dread of absolute defeat.
"You're too late," the man muttered, his voice trembling. "Director K cleared the warehouse ten minutes ago. The operation has already moved offshore."
