Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Corridor
The door swung open an inch. Then two.
A figure stepped into the dim, battery-powered emergency glow of the hospital room. Dressed head-to-toe in matte-black tactical gear with a balaclava concealing their face, the intruder moved with terrifying, silent efficiency. A silenced submachine gun was held level at chest height, sweeping the room.
I didn't wait for them to find the bed.
Using all my weight, I hurled the heavy steel IV pole like a javelin straight at the intruder’s chest.
The heavy metal rod caught the operative dead in the sternum, sending him crashing backward into the doorframe with a muffled grunt. His weapon clattered across the linoleum floor.
I lunged forward, diving on top of him before he could recover his balance. I threw punch after punch, fueled by pure adrenaline and the memory of Clara lying helpless in that coffin. The operative fought back, throwing me off with brute strength, but as he scrambled to reach his dropped weapon, the overhead emergency lights suddenly flashed back on.
Down the hallway, the unmistakable sound of shouting tactical teams echoed through the corridor.
“Federal agents! Drop your weapon!”
The intruder froze, looked toward the open door, and then dove backward through the plate-glass window of the hospital room, shattering it into a thousand glittering shards as he dropped onto the external maintenance scaffolding below.
I rushed to the broken window and looked down. The operative was already sprinting across the lower courtyard toward a waiting black SUV that screeched out of the ambulance bay before the tires had even finished smoking.
Inside the room, Clara was hyperventilating, clutching her stomach.
“They won't stop,” she sobbed. “Daniel, they won't ever stop as long as Helena is breathing.”
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I turned away from the shattered window, my jaw set, my hands trembling with cold, unyielding resolve.
“Then we’re going to finish this,” I said quietly. “Tonight.”
