Chapter 7 - THE ATRIUM TRAPThe central atrium of Walter Reed’s medical research wing was a massive, open-air architectural masterpiece featuring indoor palm trees, glass bridges connecting the upper floors, and a three-story glass ceiling.
Right now, it was a war zone.
Smoke billowed from the lower level as federal security guards and my hidden operatives exchanged heavy fire with the black-clad mercenaries.
I jogged silently along the third-floor glass walkway, using the marble pillars for cover. Below me, three Apex Aegis operatives were creeping toward the VIP elevators, thinking they were flanking our position.
They didn't realize they were walking right into a pincer maneuver.
“Marcus, drop the fire shutters,” I whispered into my comms.
CLANG!
Heavy steel fire-containment shutters slammed down across every exit of the atrium, sealing the ground floor completely and cutting off the mercenaries' escape routes.
The lead mercenary leader—a scarred veteran with a European accent—stopped dead in his tracks, looking up toward the balcony where I stood in plain sight.
“Elias Vale!” the leader shouted over the noise, raising his assault rifle and aiming directly at my chest. “You should have stayed retired, old man! You can't fight an entire syndicate!”
“I'm not fighting an entire syndicate,” I replied, my voice echoing clearly across the high-ceilinged atrium. “I'm just finishing a conversation.”
Before he could pull the trigger, the glass skylight directly above the atrium shattered into a million glittering pieces.
Two heavy tactical ropes dropped down from the hovering military helicopter overhead. Down those ropes slid two of my most trusted former sniper team members, their weapons locked and loaded.
Before the mercenaries could even look up, a volley of stun grenades exploded across the ground floor, blinding them with searing light and deafening sound.
Marcus and his team swarmed from the side corridors, weapons raised.
“Drop your weapons! Do it now or get put in the ground!” Marcus roared, kicking the mercenary leader’s rifle away and slamming him face-first into the marble tiles.
Within thirty seconds, the fight was over. All surviving mercenaries were zip-tied and pinned to the floor.
The scarred leader spat blood onto the polished stone, laughing maniacally even as a boot pressed against his neck. “You... you think capturing us matters? The Ouroboros head has a thousand necks, Vale. You haven't won anything. The package is already in motion.”
I walked down the grand staircase, my face carved from stone. I stopped right in front of him, staring down with eyes that had seen empires fall.
“What package?” I demanded.
The leader smiled, his teeth stained with crimson. “The offshore server drives. The ones containing the master decryption key to our global network. They were being transferred from the Thorne estate to our primary European server node an hour ago. And guess who authorized the digital transfer override?”
My blood ran cold.
May you like
Not Julian. Not Arthur.
Miriam Thorne.
