Chapter 9 - BLOOD ON THE 62ND FLOOR
The stairwell was deathly quiet, illuminated only by red emergency running lights.
I took the stairs three at a time, moving silently in my soft-soled designer heels, shedding the jacket to give my arms full range of motion. When I reached the 62nd floor, I pulled the EMP device from my pocket, slapped it against the magnetic lock panel beside the heavy steel door, and hit the trigger.
The device hummed with a sharp electrical whine. The magnetic lock clicked and disengaged.
I pushed the door open, drawing the suppressed Walther.
The executive penthouse suite was dark, shadowed by the glittering skyline of Chicago outside the massive panoramic windows. In the center of the room sat a massive desk of petrified wood, and behind it, embedded in the reinforced concrete pillar, was the biometric vault.
I ran to the safe, pulled the portable flash terminal from my belt, and plugged it directly into the vault's maintenance port.
"Accessing system," the terminal chimed softly.
I held Dominic’s tablet against the screen, feeding the decrypted algorithm from my father's tattoo into the interface.
DECRYPTION MATRIX ACCEPTED.
LEVEL 1: CLEARED.
LEVEL 2: CLEARED.
VAULT UNLOCKED.
The heavy circular door swung open with a hiss of pneumatic pressure. Inside, resting on a velvet tray, was a ruggedized black hard drive stamped with my father’s old military unit insignia.
I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. We did it, Dad.
"Step away from the safe, Miss Carter."
The voice came from the dark corridor behind me.
I spun around, keeping the drive tight against my chest, raising my weapon.
Julian Whitmore stood there, flanked by three heavily armed men with tactical shotguns. Beside them, held hostage with a gun pressed against his temple, was Dominic Moretti. Blood ran down Dominic’s cheek from a vicious cut above his eye.
"Drop the gun, Avery," Julian said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You really thought you could outplay us in our own building? Dominic’s little distraction downstairs didn't work. We knew you’d take the service stairs."
Dominic looked at me through the blood in his eyes. "Don't give it to them, Avery. Run."
Julian struck Dominic across the face with the pistol, dropping him to his knees. "Shut up! Give me the drive, girl, or I blow his brains across these panoramic windows, and then I find that sick mother of yours and pull her life support with my bare hands."
Hearing him threaten my mother triggered something ancient and primal inside my soul.
I lowered the gun slowly.
"Smart girl," Julian sneered, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. "Place it on the desk."
I walked toward the desk, my movements slow, defeated, compliant. Julian relaxed his posture, a victorious grin spreading across his face.
He didn't notice the fire extinguisher mounted on the column right beside my left hand.
With blinding speed, I slammed my elbow backward, tearing the heavy steel cylinder from its wall bracket, and hurled it with full force directly into the chest of the guard on the left. The impact broke his ribs, knocking him into the second gunman.
At the exact same instant, Dominic surged upward from the floor. He drove his forehead straight into Julian’s nose, shattering it instantly, and wrestled the weapon from his hands.
Gunfire erupted inside the penthouse.
I dropped to the floor, rolling beneath the desk as shotgun pellets shredded the petrified wood above me. I popped up on the opposite side, raising my Walther, and put two rounds cleanly through the center mass of the remaining standing shooter.
Julian was on the ground, scrambling for his fallen gun, blood streaming down his face.
I kicked the weapon out of his reach, sending it skittering across the polished floorboards, and planted the heel of my shoe firmly on his throat.
"My mother is going to live a very long, very happy life," I whispered down to him, pressing just hard enough to cut off his airway. "And you are going to rot."
Dominic stood over us, breathing heavily, wiping the blood from his cheek with his sleeve. He looked down at the hard drive still clutched safely in my hand, and then looked into my eyes.
May you like
"Plug it into the terminal, Avery," Dominic said softly. "End it."
I slammed the drive into the master terminal, hit the upload key, and watched as eight years of darkness, corruption, and murder were transmitted directly to the global servers of every major news syndicate and federal agency in the country.
