Chapter 6 - The Breach at Dawn
The red tail-lights of the distant police cruiser flared against the wet brick walls of Tenth Street, casting long, jittery shadows over the battered gray sedan as Adrian slammed the gearshift into reverse.
"Get in," Adrian ordered, his voice stripped of all warmth, replaced entirely by the cold, tactical register of a warlord whose front line had just been compromised.
I didn't argue. I wrenched the passenger door open, dove into the damp interior of the car, and pulled the bag of stolen medical supplies onto my lap like a shield. The tires shrieked against the slick asphalt as Adrian whipped the sedan around the corner, heading south toward the waterfront district before the flashing lights of the police blockade could trap us in the alley.
"Maya said someone breached the recovery ward," I said, my voice shaking as I turned to look at him through the gloom of the dashboard lights. "Nathan is still recovering from major abdominal surgery. If they get to him—"
"They won't get to him," Adrian interrupted, his eyes fixed on the empty, rain-slicked highway ahead, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. "Marcus and the rear guard are still stationed inside the perimeter. But if an infiltration team managed to slip past them, it means the leak isn't just an ordinary syndicate mole. It means someone on the inside gave them the blind spots."
"The blind spots?" I asked, a cold knot forming in my stomach. "Who designs the blind spots of your own clinic, Adrian?"
"Nobody," he said grimly, hitting the gas pedal until the engine roared in protest. "Unless they built the blueprint."
The sedan tore down the waterfront avenue, tires splashing sheets of standing rainwater across the old cobblestones. Three blocks away, the converted warehouse clinic loomed out of the harbor fog—and even from a distance, I could see that the perimeter had changed.
The neat rows of charcoal town cars were gone. In their place stood a chaotic cluster of idling vehicles with their hazard lights blinking erratically, and two of Adrian's men were kneeling behind a overturned dumpster near the loading dock, their tactical rifles raised toward the second-floor windows.
Adrian killed the headlights a hundred yards out, cutting the ignition and rolling the sedan silently into the shadows of a defunct fish-packing plant.
"Stay in the car," Adrian commanded, reaching beneath his seat and pulling out a heavy, matte-black Glock with a tactical suppressor already screwed onto the barrel.
"Like hell I'm staying here," I snapped, popping my door open before he could lock it. "That's my clinic, Adrian. Maya is inside. I'm going with you."
May you like
For a split second, his dark eyes flashed with an argument, but the heavy sound of a muffled gunshot echoing from the second-floor recovery ward cut him off. He let out a sharp breath, grabbed my arm, and pulled me low against his side as we sprinted toward the loading dock.
---
