Chapter 62 - The Fire in the Iron Veins
The culvert smelled of wet soot, rusted iron, and decades of industrial runoff. Every step Jonathan took sent jolts of sharp agony through his ribs, but the adrenaline pulsing through his veins kept his stride rapid and silent. Lily rode on his hip, her arms locked tight around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder. Her small fingers periodically reached back to touch his collar, reassuring herself that he was still solid, still alive.
"Daddy, the train tracks," Lily whispered into his ear, pointing down.
Jonathan angled the red beam downward. Set into the mud were two narrow-gauge rail lines, long corroded by dampness, but running straight toward the north perimeter of the old railyard. Above them, distant thuds reverberated through the bedrock—grenades or charges being dropped into vents as Vivienne’s strike team systematically purged the upper tunnels.
"They're sweeping down," Jonathan muttered. He reached into his coat pocket and checked his secondary radio. It was dead, crushed by the blast. But in his breast pocket, the reinforced titanium drive containing the decoded cipher from Cape Hope was intact. It was the only lever he had left. Vivienne hadn't just aligned with Victoria out of family sentiment; the sisters were two sides of the same parasite. Victoria brought the psychotic vengeance that drove the early attacks; Vivienne brought the cold, global architecture of the Vance syndicate.
Suddenly, a metallic clatter bounced down the tunnel ahead of them.
Jonathan froze, flattening himself against the weeping brick wall, sliding his free hand down to the holster at his hip. His Glock was clogged with soot, but the action slid back smoothly when he racked the slide. One round chambered with a quiet *click*.
From around the bend of the curved brick wall, a flashlight beam swept over the puddles. But it wasn't the sweeping, tactical motion of Vivienne’s mercs. It was erratic, dragging low along the floor.
"Jonathan?" a hoarse, ragged voice called out.
Jonathan held his breath, keeping his sight trained on the corner. A silhouette staggered into view, leaning heavily against the brickwork. It was Marcus. The former head of Vance private security was bleeding heavily from his shoulder, his jacket torn, clutching an empty MP5 like a club.
"Hold your fire... it’s me," Marcus breathed, collapsing to his knees in the sludge.
Jonathan stepped forward, lowering the muzzle but keeping his senses flared. "Marcus. How did you get down here?"
"The old boiler shafts," Marcus coughed, spitting a mixture of phlegm and blood onto the ties. "When Victoria pushed the switch, her private vanguard hit our flank. She didn't just bring Vivienne's men, Jonathan. Victoria spent the last eight months recruiting the dregs from the Blackwood Ridge private network. Mercenaries she kept off the books before the fire."
"She survived the mansion inferno," Jonathan said, his voice flat with cold fury.
"Barely," Marcus said, looking up, his face pale under the tunnel's gloom. "Her face was reconstructed by an unlicensed surgeon in Marseille. Vivienne funded it. Vivienne needed Victoria’s biometric thumbprint and retinal signature to unlock the old grandfather accounts. But Victoria went rogue the moment she realized Lily was here. Victoria doesn't care about the money anymore, Jonathan. She believes... she truly believes that until she breaks that girl, she is damned."
Lily shrank closer into Jonathan’s chest. Jonathan tightened his arm around her, feeling the rapid flutter of her heart.
"Where is the extraction point?" Jonathan asked.
"Two hundred yards down this tunnel," Marcus gasped, pulling himself upright with agonizing effort. "An old coal dock leading out to the river barge. I had two men waiting there before the depot blew. But we don't have much time. Vivienne’s point men have ground-penetrating radar. They know we survived the drop. They are already sealing the drainage exits."
May you like
Before Jonathan could reply, the deep, hollow report of a sniper rifle cracked through the culvert behind them, shattering a brick inches from Marcus’s ear.
***
