Chapter 9 - The Freight Bay Ambush
“They’re in the stairwell,” Dominic muttered, stopping the gurney dead in its tracks. He unzipped his jacket, revealing a matte-black Sig Sauer pistol holstered tightly beneath his arm.
“Dominic, wait!” Sterling panicked, lunging forward. “If you shoot, they’ll—!”
“If I don't shoot, we’re all dead in thirty seconds,” Dominic cut him off, his voice flat and absolute. He shoved the gurney behind a massive industrial concrete pillar, positioning himself directly in front of the narrow corridor intersection. “Barbara, stay low behind the column. Keep the mask pumping.”
I crouched on the cold concrete, my fingers locked around the rubber ambu-bag, squeezing rhythmically while my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. This wasn't the hospital anymore. This wasn't clean scrubs and comforting grieving mothers. This was a war zone born out of corporate greed, stolen grant money, and illegal shipping routes.
Click-clack.
The sound of a round chambering echoed down the concrete corridor.
“Dominic Moretti,” a cold, synthesized voice called out from the shadows near the stairwell door. It sounded like it was coming through a tactical comms unit. “Step away from the girl and hand over the drive. You’re entirely out of your depth.”
“I’m right where I want to be, Victor,” Dominic shouted back, his posture loose, balanced, and deadly ready. “You should have stayed in Geneva.”
Before the unseen gunman could reply, Dominic pivoted around the corner, firing two rapid shots that shattered the overhead conduit, plunging the hallway into sudden, pitch-black darkness save for the emergency battery-backup lights.
May you like
Automatic gunfire immediately erupted, chewing through the concrete pillars and sending a blinding storm of white dust and stone shrapnel raining down over us.
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