Chapter 6 - Blood on the TerminalViktor was easily two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle and institutionalized brutality, moving with a terrifying, violent speed that would have crushed an ordinary man.
He swung the combat knife in a vicious, downward arc aimed straight at my collarbone.
I ducked inside his guard, catching his thick wrist mid-swing, and slammed my knee upward into his midsection.
The impact sounded like a sack of wet flour hitting concrete, but Viktor didn't even flinch. He let out a feral grunt, headbutting me square in the bridge of the nose.
Stars exploded behind my eyes. Warm, coppery blood rushed instantly down my upper lip.
Before I could recover, Viktor threw a massive right hook that caught me across the jaw, sending me crashing backward into a rack of communication servers. Sparks showered down over my shoulders like a miniature fireworks display.
“Dominic!” Elena screamed from the terminal, her fingers flying across her deck’s keyboard as a progress bar on the main monitor hit 89%.
“Upload at ninety-five percent... encryption keys locking in... hold the line!” she shouted over the blaring red warning klaxons filling the trailer.
Viktor towered over me, raising his knife high for the killing blow, a sadistic grin splitting his scarred face. “Time to die, Ashford.”
He plunged the blade downward.
I twisted my body at the last possible microsecond, letting the knife bury itself deep into the metal casing of the server rack right beside my ear.
Before he could yank it free, I drew the Glock I’d taken from the clinic guard out of my waistband and jammed the barrel directly beneath his Kevlar vest.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three close-range rounds tore through his chest.
Viktor’s eyes widened in shock. The massive brute staggered backward two steps, dropped the knife, and collapsed onto the metal floor, motionless.
I pushed myself up off the floor, wiping the blood from my face, and turned my gun toward Vincent Caldwell.
Vincent had backed away against the far wall, his face completely drained of color, his hands trembling as he reached inside his jacket for a concealed backup pistol.
“Don't even think about it, Vincent,” I warned, leveling the Sig directly between his eyes.
“You can't do this,” Vincent stammered, his polished, untouchable corporate demeanor completely shattered, revealing the pathetic coward hiding underneath. “My lawyers... my judges... I own half of Boston—”
“Not anymore,” a cool, steady voice interrupted.
Elena stood up from the primary terminal, pressing the enter key with a satisfying, decisive click.
Across the wall of monitors, the central data stream flashed a bright, brilliant green.
“Upload complete. Data packets successfully broadcast to FBI Central Anti-Corruption Division, United States District Court, and Associated Press Global News Wire. Dead-man’s switch disarmed.”
Vincent stared at the green screens, his knees buckling beneath him. He slid down the wall until he hit the floor, burying his face in his hands.
“It’s over,” Elena whispered, walking slowly around the desk, stopping beside me.
She looked down at Vincent with an expression of profound, soul-deep liberation. The ghosts that had haunted her for three years—the beatings, the chains, the loss of her brother—finally evaporated into the cold night air.
Outside the trailer doors, the sharp, chaotic rattle of gunfire abruptly ceased.
Felix’s voice crackled over the radio: “Boss, federal sirens are heading down the access road from every direction. State troopers and federal marshals are securing the perimeter. We need to move, now.”
I looked at Elena. Her dark eyes met mine, reflecting the amber glow of the computer terminals.
May you like
“Let’s go,” I said, taking her hand.
We walked out of the command trailer together, leaving Vincent Caldwell sitting alone in the dark waiting for the federal handcuffs to click shut, stepping out of the shadows of the pier and into the dawn of a brand-new day.
