Chapter 9 - Smoke and Steel
Back in the central archive, the air was thick with gray cordite smoke and choking limestone dust.
Caleb pressed his back hard against a massive steel filing cabinet, his breathing heavy and controlled. His jacket was torn at the shoulder, and a thin line of blood trickled down his temple where a ricochet had grazed his skin.
Across the ruined room, through the haze of smoke, two tactical operatives advanced slowly, their assault rifles raised and sweeping the shadows.
“Give it up, Caleb!” Beatrice’s voice echoed sharply from the top of the ruined stairwell, safe behind her armed guards. “You can’t outrun federal jurisdiction, and you certainly can’t fight an entire security battalion on your own!”
Caleb didn't answer. He carefully checked the magazine of his Sig Sauer. Two rounds left.
The first operative stepped past the shattered oak desk, his night-vision visor glowing faintly in the gloom. He raised his barrel toward the server racks where Caleb was hiding.
With a sudden, violent roar, Caleb leaped out from behind the filing cabinet, sliding across the slick, debris-strewn concrete floor. He fired twice upward, catching the leading operative in the tactical vest and sending him crashing backward into a stack of metal storage boxes.
The second operative swung his rifle around, but before he could pull the trigger, a heavy steel access panel to the side wall swung open with a loud, metallic slam.
Arthur Erikson stepped out of the dark conduit tunnel, holding a heavy 12-gauge tactical shotgun squarely aimed at the second guard’s chest.
“Drop the weapon, son,” Arthur growled, his voice carrying the iron-clad authority of a patriarch who refused to stay dead. “Or I’ll blow your ceramic plates straight through your spine.”
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The guard froze, slowly lowering his rifle to the floor and raising his hands.
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