Chapter 7 - The Ambush at the Docks
Heavy tactical flashlights cut through the gloom of the warehouse, throwing blinding white beams across the rows of steel shipping containers.
"Stay back!" Morgan ordered, pushing me slightly behind a massive concrete support pillar while drawing her own sidearm with practiced, military precision.
Footsteps pounded against the asphalt outside—heavy, synchronized, and disciplined. These weren't street thugs or corporate goons hired by my father; these were trained professionals moving in a classic room-clearing wedge formation.
"Commander Olivia Hayes!" a cold, amplified voice boomed from a megaphone outside the loading bay. "Step away from the terminal immediately. You are in violation of a direct executive security directive. Surrender the physical dossier and your personal terminal access codes, or this facility will be secured with extreme prejudice."
Arthur gripped his pistol, his knuckles turning white. "Executive security directive? They're using presidential clearance to execute an illegal hit on a federal property!"
"They aren't trying to arrest us, Arthur," I said, my mind racing as I scanned the dark perimeter for an alternate exit. "If they wanted us in custody, they would have sent the marshals. They're here to erase the core hard drives and make sure nobody ever links the Pentagon's oversight board to the stolen Mk-48 guidance systems."
"We can't hold this position," Morgan said, her eyes darting toward the side maintenance hatch fifty yards away. "They have thermal optics. The moment we move into the open, they'll light us up."
"Unless we give them a distraction," I replied.
I reached down quickly and tapped the manual override key on the main terminal console, programming a delayed-action thermal deletion sequence into the core database. If the encrypted files couldn't be saved, I was going to make sure the Oversight Committee couldn't steal them either.
"What did you just do?" Arthur hissed.
"I set the hard drives to incinerate in ninety seconds," I said, stepping out from behind the pillar with my hands raised high enough for their thermal scopes to pick up. "Cover me. I'm going to draw their attention."
"Olivia, no!" Morgan yelled, but I was already moving, sprinting toward a stack of empty wooden pallets near the center aisle.
A volley of suppressed gunfire cracked through the damp night air. A high-velocity round splintered the wooden pallet inches from my shoulder, showering my uniform jacket with sharp wood splinters. I dropped low, rolling behind a steel forklift as the tactical team advanced rapidly through the loading bay.
"Target sighted at sector four!" a harsh voice barked over a tactical radio. "Move in! Secure the terminal before she wipes the core!"
Arthur and Morgan opened fire from the shadows, their suppressors chattering back in a disciplined, defensive rhythm that forced the advancing team to scatter behind cover.
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I didn't wait. I scrambled across the floor toward the side maintenance hatch, my heart hammering against my ribs, knowing that the next ninety seconds would determine whether we survived the night or became another buried footnote in a classified government cover-up.
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