Chapter 15 - The Hostage
We crawled through the freezing, pitch-black storm drain for nearly two miles.
Leo cried softly into Sarah's chest, while I led the way using the faint beam of a waterproof flashlight.
We finally emerged at an isolated water treatment plant on the edge of the industrial district just as the sun began to rise.
Elias was already waiting for us in a battered, armored transport van he had stolen from a private security firm.
He quickly pulled us into the back of the vehicle, handing Sarah a heavy blanket and a thermos of hot coffee.
"Your house is a crater, Charles," Elias said grimly, throwing the van into gear and speeding away from the city limits.
"The local news is calling it a tragic gas leak, which means Cortez already bought off the responding police captain."
I sat in the cold metal cargo hold, my hands covered in dirt and dried blood, vibrating with absolute rage.
"I managed to trap one of the gunmen before the explosion," Elias revealed, gesturing toward the very back of the van.
I turned around and saw a bruised, bloody man zip-tied to a heavy steel support beam.
He was wearing black tactical gear and staring at me with a mixture of defiance and absolute fear.
I stood up, grabbed a heavy metal wrench from Elias's toolkit, and walked slowly toward the captive.
"Cover Leo's eyes," I told Sarah coldly.
I stood directly over the cartel lieutenant, tapping the heavy steel wrench against the palm of my hand.
"I am going to ask you exactly one time," I whispered, my voice dripping with lethal intent. "Where is Alejandro Cortez?"
The man spat a glob of blood onto my shoes and laughed.
"Cortez is a ghost, you stupid American," the man sneered. "He is everywhere."
I didn't shout, and I didn't threaten him again.
I simply swung the heavy wrench, violently shattering his left kneecap with a sickening crunch.
The man screamed in absolute, blinding agony, thrashing wildly against the heavy plastic zip-ties.
"I have built skyscrapers, and I know exactly how much structural damage a human body can take before it permanently collapses," I stated calmly.
I raised the wrench again, aiming directly for his right collarbone.
"Wait!" the man shrieked, tears of pure pain streaming down his bruised face.
"He isn't in Mexico! He is running the operation from a private penthouse in downtown Chicago!"
I lowered the wrench, staring at him in complete disbelief.
Cortez was sitting right in my own city, pulling the strings from a luxury skyscraper while my family slept in the dirt.
"He has a meeting tonight with his primary federal contact," the bleeding man gasped.
"Who is the contact?" I demanded, gripping him roughly by the throat.
May you like
The man swallowed hard, terrified of the answer he was about to give.
"The Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago FBI Field Office."
