Chapter 10 - The Extraction
A wall of thick, caustic white smoke erupted from the canister, instantly filling the small office. It wasn't standard tear gas; it smelled of sulfur and burning chemicals, searing my throat the moment I pulled a breath.
My eyes burned with blinding fire. Through the swirling white haze, gunfire erupted in deafening bursts—Perez’s Glock barking three times, met by the sharp, rhythmic staccato of a suppressed submachine gun.
*Thump.*
A heavy impact rattled the filing cabinet right next to my head.
"Perez!" I choked out, coughing violently into the hem of my hoodie.
No answer came. Only the wet, ragged sound of someone struggling to breathe on the floor near the doorway.
Heavy combat boots crunched over the shattered glass. Through the smoke, a tall figure clad in black tactical gear materialized like a phantom. A gloved hand reached through the haze, grabbing the collar of my jacket with bruising force, hauling me effortlessly to my feet.
I fought back savagely. I kicked, clawed at the ballistic vest, and drove my heel down toward the intruder’s shin.
"Stop moving, Emily!" a harsh voice barked.
The voice was American. Familiar.
The smoke parted slightly as an emergency exhaust vent kicked in overhead. Through stinging, streaming tears, I looked into the face of my captor.
It was Agent Cross.
His face was streaked with soot, a bloody graze running along his left temple, his FBI windbreaker torn at the shoulder. On the floor behind him lay two men in unmarked black coveralls, unconscious or dead, and Detective Perez, clutching a bleeding shoulder but breathing.
"Cross..." I gasped, my chest heaving. "They're inside the building."
"They triggered a false hazardous material protocol through the city dispatch network," Cross said, hauling me out into the smoked-filled corridor. "Two tactical teams entered disguised as specialized hazmat contractors. We took down three in the stairwell, but the building perimeter is compromised. We have to move. Now."
"Where is Ryan?" I demanded, struggling to keep pace as we sprinted down a narrow secondary service staircase. "Where did they take him?"
"They didn't come for Ryan, Emily," Cross said grimly, kicking open a metal fire exit that led into the underground subterranean loading bay.
The cold night air hit my burning skin like ice water.
Waiting in the loading bay was an unmarked black SUV, its engine purring with a low, menacing rumble.
"They know Ryan is an idiot who kept digital copies of everything," Cross continued, shoving me toward the passenger side of the vehicle. "They came to eliminate the one person who can legally dispute the ownership of that MacBook and blow their entire money-laundering architecture wide open in federal court."
"Me," I said.
May you like
"You," Cross confirmed. "Get in."
***
