Chapter 12 - Bloodlines and Breach
The first operative rounded the corner of a rusted shipping container, weapon raised, night-vision goggles glowing an eerie green. He didn't even have time to adjust his sightline.
Michael lunged forward with explosive speed that defied his age. The iron pipe collided with the operative’s rifle barrel, knocking it skyward as a burst of automatic fire shattered the harbor air. In a continuous, fluid movement, Michael drove the heel of his palm upward into the man’s chin, shattering the helmet strap, followed by an elbow strike directly into the chest plate. The mercenary dropped like a sack of stones.
Michael caught the falling rifle—an unmarked HK416—flipped the selector switch to semi-automatic, and fired two controlled shots into the catwalk above. A scream cut through the darkness, followed by the heavy thud of a body crashing forty feet down onto a stack of wooden pallets.
“They aren't Navy,” Michael growled, stripping the fallen operative’s tactical vest for spare magazines. “Private contractor. Sterling’s private cleanup team. They had Callahan tailed.”
Callahan emerged from behind the car, smoke curling from his sidearm. “They must have picked up my trail when I left the naval gala. They knew I came looking for you, Michael.”
“They don't know what we have yet,” Michael said coldly, checking the chamber of the captured weapon. He turned to Lucas, grabbing the young man by the shoulders. “Look at me, son.”
Lucas looked into eyes that were utterly terrifying in their calm.
“You wanted to know who I am,” Michael said, his voice dropping into an iron rhythm. “This is the man the Navy trained me to be. I buried him so you could have a life. But tonight, that life is under fire. Can you run?”
May you like
Lucas swallowed the bile rising in his throat, wiped the blood from his scraped knuckles onto his jeans, and nodded. “I can run.”
“Then we stop running,” Michael said. “We take this to the front door.”
