Chapter 6 - Breach and Clear

The Apex warehouse was a corrugated metal eyesore surrounded by chain-link fencing topped with barbed wire. Two security cameras swept the perimeter every thirty seconds, their mechanical hum barely audible over the drone of a nearby highway.

I didn't bother cutting the fence. I scaled it in three fluid seconds, dropped silently onto the gravel on the other side, and melted into the deep shadows cast by a stack of shipping containers.

Through a high, frosted-glass window on the side of the warehouse, I saw amber light flickering inside. Muffled laughter drifted out into the cool night air. Derek Vance and his men were celebrating—sharing beers and laughing about a job well done, entirely unaware that the man whose daughter they had brutalized was standing outside their door.

I moved to the side metal service door. The electronic keypad lock blinked blue. I pulled out my decryption device—a small, military-grade handheld hardware sniffer Marcus had overnighted to a drop point near the hospital. I plugged it into the emergency diagnostic port beneath the keypad. Three seconds later, the internal relay clicked.

The door swung open with a soft, pneumatic hiss.

I stepped across the threshold, drawing the Sig Sauer and screwing the suppressor onto the barrel with two smooth twists of my wrist.

Inside, the warehouse was a cavernous space filled with parked utility vans, workbenches covered in tools, and a makeshift office partitioned off with drywall in the far corner. The three men were seated around a metal folding table inside the office, drinking domestic beer and watching a game on a small portable TV.

"...and the old man wasn't even home," Derek Vance was saying, taking a swig from his can. "Kid didn't even scream much after the first hit. Just curled up like a bug. Sterling's gonna double our bonus once we hand over that drive."

"And if the dad comes looking?" the second man, Cole, asked with a grin.

"What dad? He's a ghost chasing paper trails in South America. By the time he finds out—"

"He already knows," I said.

The three men froze. The sound of my voice cut through the warehouse air like a razor blade. All three heads snapped toward the open doorway of the office.

Derek Vance's eyes went wide as saucers as he recognized me stepping out from the shadows of the warehouse floor. "Harper? What the—"

He reached for the Glock resting on the folding table, but he was half a second too slow.

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My suppressed pistol coughed twice. Pfft-pfft.

Two 9mm hollow-points took Derek square in the chest, lifting him out of his metal chair and slamming him backward into a drywall partition. He slid down to the floor, leaving a smear of dark crimson against the white board, gasping once before his eyes glazed over.