Chapter 6 - Crimson Snow
The heavy body of the federal agent crumpled into the fresh powder beside Ryan’s boot, his warm blood melting tiny craters into the crystalline surface.
“Ambush! Down! Get down!” Agent Marcus Vance roared, drawing his sidearm and diving behind the reinforced engine block of the nearest NCIS SUV as a second supersonic round starred the bulletproof glass of the driver's window.
Chaos erupted instantly.
The courtyard turned into a storm of blinding strobe lights, shouting tactical officers, and deafening return fire. In the confusion, Ryan didn't hesitate. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he threw his weight forward, kicking the legs out from under the remaining agent who had been dragging him. The man hit the icy ground hard, his grip slipping from Ryan’s upper arm.
Ryan rolled violently into the deep snowdrift beneath the edge of the patio deck, disappearing into the dark shadows just as a burst of automatic rifle fire chewed through the wooden railing inches above his head.
“Target is loose! Secure the perimeter!” someone screamed over the tactical radio channel.
Through the falling snow, Ryan caught a brief flash of movement near the tree line fifty yards away. It wasn't just a sniper. It was an extraction team—two men in all-weather ghillie suits dragging a heavy gear case toward a snowcat idling deep in the timber.
They weren't trying to assassinate Ryan.
They were trying to silence the NCIS agents before the federal team could secure the physical hard drives David had handed over. Whoever was pulling the strings inside the intelligence community didn't want Ryan captured alive for interrogation—they wanted him dead with the classified files still in federal custody to cement his treason conviction.
“Ryan!”
A frantic voice cut through the gunfire. Susan stumbled out through the shattered glass doors of the villa, her face pale, tears freezing on her cheeks. She looked around wildly in the blinding snowstorm. “Ryan, where are you?!”
Before Ryan could shout back to her, a heavy hand grabbed him by the back of his tactical jacket from the darkness beneath the deck.
Strong fingers dug into his collar, yanking him backward into the crawlspace access hatch.
Ryan lashed out with his bound wrists, slamming his elbow hard against his attacker's ribs, but a familiar, low voice hissed directly into his ear.
“Stop fighting, Commander, unless you want a federal bullet in your spine.”
Ryan froze. It wasn't an assassin.
It was Ethan Wright.
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The former electronic-warfare officer pulled Ryan deep into the shadows of the subterranean concrete utility tunnel, sliding the heavy steel drainage grate back into place and locking it with a mechanical click just as a fresh volley of rifle fire hammered against the exterior wall above them.
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