Chapter 7 - The Blind Zone
Infrared and night-vision optics flared to life outside the door as three heavily armored mercenaries breached the smoking frame, sweeping their carbines into the blackness.
“Room’s dark! NVGs up—flashbangs out!” the lead operative barked, reaching for his tactical vest.
He never cleared his pouch.
From the shadows near the back console, a suppressed crack split the dark. Dominic’s submachine gun spat a single, precise round through the center of the intruder’s tactical helmet visor. The mercenary dropped like a stone, his night-vision goggles clattering loudly against the concrete floor.
“Contact! Left flank!” the second operative roared, sweeping his rifle toward the desk and opening blind, panicked fire into the mahogany wood. Splinters exploded into the air as 5.56 rounds chewed through the furniture.
Emma dropped flat to the floor, rolling behind the heavy bulk of the server rack as bullets whined overhead, ricocheting off the reinforced walls with blinding sparks. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, but the panic didn't paralyze her—it sharpened her vision.
She remembered what her father had taught her on hunting trips upstate when she was ten: When the light goes out, don't look at the flashes. Look at the shadows.
Across the room, the second mercenary advanced cautiously, his rifle barrel sweeping toward where Dominic sat in the dark.
Emma raised the Sig Sauer, using both hands to steady her trembling grip. She aligned the glowing tritium sights against the silhouette of the armored vest crossing the dim ambient glow of the server monitors.
She squeezed the trigger.
The recoil slammed back into her shoulder with a vicious kick, nearly tearing the gun from her grasp. The gunshot was deafening in the confined space.
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The mercenary stumbled sideways, cursing in pain as a round clipped his shoulder armor, spinning him away from Dominic’s position.
That micro-second of hesitation was all Dominic needed.
