Chapter 5 - The Red Terminal
The rhythmic strobe of the red emergency alarm turned the mahogany-and-glass penthouse into a submerged chamber of flashing blood and shadow.
“What is that?” I demanded, keeping the heavy barrel of my Glock pressed against the floor near Julian’s ear while my eyes darted toward the wall-mounted security console.
Julian was shaking uncontrollably, his hands clutching his bruised ribs as he coughed up a mix of scotch and dust from the shattered coffee table. “It’s... it’s not me! I swear to God, Luke, I didn't set off the lockdown!”
I left him sprawled on the Persian rug and vaulted across the room toward the master console. I punched my master biometric override into the glass touchscreen. The display flickered, cleared the static, and brought up the live architectural feed of the entire sixty-five-story building.
Every single exit was locked in steel-shutter protocol.
Worse still, the external perimeter cameras showed three unmarked tactical vans pulling up to the building’s reinforced loading dock in the basement, their headlights off, disgorging men in full black-ops body armor carrying automatic breaching shotguns.
They weren't local police. They weren't federal agents. They moved with the silent, terrifying coordination of a private hit squad.
“The Broker,” Julian whispered from the floor, his voice cracking as he stared at the security screens in sheer horror. “He knew you were coming here tonight, Luke. The whole thing... it was a setup to get you both under one roof.”
My mind raced through the tactical chessboard. If they locked down the building and deployed a hit squad before Marco could sound the alarm from the garage, our only way out was through the vertical transport shafts—or fighting our way down sixty-five floors of concrete stairwells.
“Marco!” I shouted, slapping the intercom button for the secure underground garage channel. “Marco, do you copy? We’ve got an incoming breach team at the loading dock! Get the car out of the bay now!”
Static hissed through the speaker. A long, agonizing two seconds passed before Marco’s voice crackled back through the comms—not steady, but spiked with urgent adrenaline.
“Boss! We’re cut off! The garage security shutters just dropped automatically from the main server room upstairs! A team of six armed mercs just entered the parking level through the service tunnel—they’re planting charges on the sedan’s doors!”
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. They hadn't just locked us in; they had trapped Marco downstairs with no cover and nowhere to run.
“Fall back to the utility core, Marco! Find a defensive angle—”
Before I could finish the order, a deafening explosion echoed through the intercom speakers, followed by the sickening crunch of metal tearing apart and the rapid, stuttering chatter of suppressed automatic gunfire.
“Marco!” I yelled into the mic.
Silence. Just the low, steady hum of burning electrical circuits and the steady red strobe of the emergency lights.
May you like
Behind me on the floor, Julian let out a low, pathetic whimper.
I slowly turned away from the console, letting the Glock settle heavily in my grip as the heavy steel elevator doors at the end of the penthouse hallway began to groan under the massive, hydraulic impact of a breaching charge being locked into place on the outer side.
