Chapter 13 - Crossfire in the Foyer
Before Daniel could raise his rifle, the shadows along the upper perimeter of the subterranean staircase flickered.
Clack-clack-clack.
Heavy combat boots hit the concrete steps. Four federal tactical operatives—not the local marshals outside, but elite private contractors wearing unmarked matte-black armor and carrying suppressed short-barreled rifles—poured down the stairwell, their laser sights painting a grid of crimson crosses across Daniel's chest.
Daniel didn't hesitate. He dropped into a combat roll to the left, bullets chewing up the concrete wall where he had been standing a fraction of a second earlier. His assault rifle barked twice in rapid succession, the muzzle flash illuminating the dark corridor in strobing flashes of orange. The lead operative took a round through his ceramic plate, spinning backward and crashing hard against the reinforced handrail.
"Don't kill him!" Elena’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding over the deafening racket of gunfire. "I want him alive when the grand jury signs the transfer orders!"
The remaining three operatives spread out, utilizing the stone pillars for cover as they laid down a blistering wall of suppression fire. Shrapnel and stone chips sprayed through the air, stinging Daniel’s face as he pinned himself flat against the side of the concrete archway.
He glanced down at his magazine. Three rounds left.
Click.
He was out.
From the top of the stairs, the cold mechanical whine of a flash-bang pin being pulled echoed through the stairwell.
Ting.
The small metal cylinder bounced off the floor, skidding across the smooth marble tiles right toward Daniel's boots. He didn't have time to run. He kicked out hard, sending the grenade skidding back toward the stairs just as it detonated with a blinding, ear-splitting flash of white light and a concussive shockwave that rattled the fillings in his teeth.
Shouts of disorientation echoed from the operatives as the flash-bang blinded them in the enclosed space.
Amidst the smoke and ringing silence, Elena stood up from her wingback chair, her expression completely unchanged. She didn't look flustered; she looked like a general watching a minor tactical delay on a map. She reached into her cashmere coat, pulled out a sleek, satellite-linked comm-device, and pressed the transmission key.
"Extraction team alpha, this is Command," she said calmly, her voice carrying easily over the dying echoes of gunfire. "The package is resisting. Terminate the perimeter opposition and initiate code zero extraction immediately."
"Elena!" Daniel yelled, lunging out from behind the pillar just as the smoke cleared.
He managed to grab her wrist before she could press the final transmission sequence, twisting her arm behind her back with enough force to snap the comm-device from her grip. It clattered against the floor, skidding into the darkness.
For the first time since he had seen her on the monitor, Elena's mask slipped. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, and her eyes flared with sudden, unadulterated venom.
"You fool," she hissed, leaning back against his chest with surprising strength. "You think you've won because you have your hands on me? Look outside, Daniel. Look at the monitors!"
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Daniel glanced toward the security desk where the multi-screen display flickered back to life.
Outside the front gates, the federal convoy had parted. But stepping out of the lead armored vehicle wasn't a standard field marshal or a local detective. It was a man in an immaculate gray federal prosecutor’s suit, holding a sealed manila envelope—and flanked by four heavily armed state troopers holding an arrest warrant with Ethan’s name printed in bold, black letters at the top.
