Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF SANTA MARIAThe rain in Mexico City was relentless, washing over the corrugated iron roofs and cobblestone streets of the outskirts.
The Santa Maria Clinic sat isolated on a hill overlooking the valley—a former monastery converted into a high-security private medical facility surrounded by concrete walls and barbed wire.
The black military helicopter dropped me and two former Special Forces operatives onto the roof of a building two blocks away under the cover of fog and darkness.
I pulled my night-vision goggles over my eyes and checked my weapon.
"Listen to me," I told the two men, Jackson and Vance Jr. "Our objective is extraction. We locate Emily Knight, we secure her, and we get out. Marcus has at least six armed mercenaries inside. Rules of engagement are open fire on anyone carrying a weapon."
"Understood, Boss," Jackson nodded, racking the slide of his suppressed rifle.
We moved like shadows over the rooftops, dropping down into the courtyard of the clinic. The moment my boots touched the ground, I saw the signs of a struggle. The front security guard was lying on the floor of the lobby, dead from a gunshot wound.
Marcus was already inside.
"Move! Fast!" I barked.
We sprinted through the sterile, white corridors. Blood was smeared across the walls. Marcus's men had moved through the building like a death squad, executing any staff members who got in their way to eliminate witnesses.
We reached the third floor—the private intensive care wing.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted.
Tracer rounds ripped through the drywall, showering us with dust and plaster. Jackson took a round to the shoulder and fell back against the wall, firing back with a burst from his rifle that took down one of the mercenary gunmen at the end of the hall.
"Go, Colonel!" Jackson screamed, holding his arm. "We'll cover the hallway! Go get your wife!"
I didn't hesitate. I kicked open the heavy double doors at the end of the hall and charged down the final corridor.
Room 304.
The door was locked from the inside. I raised my boot and kicked the lock right out of the frame.
The door burst open.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by the green glow of heart monitors and IV machines. Resting in a hospital bed was Emily. She was thin, her skin pale as porcelain, but her heart was beating. She was breathing.
Standing over her bed, holding a syringe filled with a clear, lethal fluid, was Marcus.
"You're late, Colonel," Marcus smirked, pointing the needle toward Emily’s IV line. "One drop of potassium chloride into her IV, and her heart stops in three seconds. Step back, or she dies before you can pull that trigger."
My firearm was trained directly on Marcus's forehead. My heart was hammering like a sledgehammer against my ribs.
"Put it down, Marcus," I growled, stepping into the room. "It's over. Victoria is in federal custody. The cartel money is frozen. You have nothing to win here."
"I have five million reasons to finish this job," Marcus sneered. "Your mother paid me half in advance. The other half is in a Swiss account that unlocks the moment I deliver proof of Emily's death to her lawyers."
"Look at her, Marcus!" I yelled, trying to buy time as I calculated the distance between us. "She's been in a cage for eight years! She hasn't seen her children! She hasn't seen the sun!"
"I don't care about your family drama, Ethan," Marcus laughed, lowering the syringe toward the IV tube. "Business is business."
In that split second, I didn't shoot Marcus's head—I knew he might reflexively plunge the syringe into the tube as he died.
Instead, I shifted my aim two inches to the left and fired straight through his right wrist.
BANG!
The bullet blew through Marcus's arm. He screamed in agony, dropping the syringe to the floor. Before he could draw his backup sidearm with his left hand, I lunged across the room, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed his head into the glass heart monitor.
The glass shattered. Marcus groaned, falling to his knees. I drew my combat knife and pinned his left hand to the wooden floorboards. He shrieked in pain, completely immobilized.
"That's for my family," I whispered into his ear.
I turned away from the bleeding mercenary and rushed to the side of the bed.
The noise, the gunshots, and the shattering glass had triggered the monitors. The heart rate monitor began to beep frantically—60 bpm... 80 bpm... 110 bpm.
Emily’s eyelids fluttered.
Slowly, agonizingly, her pale green eyes opened. She blinked against the dim light, looking up at the ceiling, then slowly turning her head toward me.
"E... Ethan?" her voice was a raspy, fragile whisper, barely audible over the hum of the machines.
May you like
I collapsed beside her bed, taking her thin, cold hand in mine and pressing it against my face as tears flooded my eyes.
"I'm here, Emily," I sobbed. "I'm here. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I took so long."
