Chapter 7 - The Burning Convoy
The orange glow of the explosion reflected against the glass skyscrapers of the downtown district.
I did not wait for Isabella or Grace.
I sprinted out of the alleyway, my pistol drawn, running desperately toward the rising column of black smoke.
I rounded the corner and saw the devastating aftermath of the Syndicate's ambush.
Three armored federal transport vehicles were flipped on their sides, actively engulfed in roaring flames.
Bodies of FBI agents littered the asphalt, brutally gunned down in the street.
A team of Syndicate mercenaries wearing black tactical masks was moving systematically through the wreckage.
They were executing any federal agents who had survived the initial blast.
I dropped to one knee behind a burnt-out taxi cab and opened fire.
My first two shots took down a mercenary who was raising his rifle toward an injured agent.
The rest of the Syndicate kill team immediately turned their weapons toward my position.
A hail of bullets tore into the taxi cab, forcing me to press my face tightly against the hot asphalt.
Suddenly, the deafening roar of a heavy sniper rifle echoed from a nearby rooftop.
Isabella had found a vantage point.
Two more mercenaries collapsed as her high-caliber rounds pierced their body armor.
The remaining hostiles realized they were pinned down and threw a thick smoke grenade into the street.
Under the cover of the grey smoke, they scrambled into a waiting extraction van and sped away.
I ignored the burning heat of the wreckage and rushed toward the overturned center transport vehicle.
The heavy steel doors in the back were blown completely off their hinges.
I climbed inside the smoking cabin, coughing violently as the toxic fumes burned my lungs.
Elena! I screamed, desperately shifting through the twisted metal and debris.
I found a woman wearing a tactical vest slumped against the far wall of the transport.
She had a massive gunshot wound to her chest.
I carefully rolled her over, my heart stopping completely as I saw her face.
It was Elena.
She was barely breathing, her blood pooling rapidly on the metal floorboards.
Julian, she whispered, her eyes struggling to focus on my face.
I pulled her into my arms, tears finally spilling down my dirt-covered cheeks.
I am here, Elena, I promised.
She weakly grabbed the lapel of my jacket, her grip surprisingly strong for a dying woman.
The ledger was a fake, Julian.
I gave the real one to Grace to hide inside Amara's teddy bear.
Elena's eyes fluttered shut, and she went completely limp in my arms.
But before I could even process her death, a cold, metallic voice echoed from the street outside.
May you like
Drop your weapons and step out of the vehicle with your hands raised.
I looked out of the shattered window and saw fifty heavily armed police officers aiming their rifles directly at me.
