Chapter 14 - THE SNIPER’S BULLET
-14-
The deafening crack of the sniper rifle echoed off the vaulted iron beams of the Packard Plant like a bolt of lightning inside a tin shed.
Marcus Vance didn't even have time to scream.
A high-velocity round tore through the concrete pillar inches from his head, showering him in a cloud of gray dust and concrete shrapnel. The sheer concussive force of the shot knocked him off balance, sending him stumbling backward against the rusted iron railing of the upper catwalk. His revolver slipped from his numbed fingers, clattering loudly against the metal stairs as it tumbled down to the concrete floor below.
"Run, Belle! To me!" Harlan roared, exploding into a full-speed sprint across the assembly floor.
I didn't wait. I scrambled forward on the dusty concrete, diving past the fallen portfolio, and scooped little Belle up into my arms just as Marcus regained his footing, howling with rage, and lunged toward a secondary backup pistol strapped to his ankle.
"You bastard!" Marcus screamed, drawing the pistol with his left hand, aiming wildly toward us.
Before he could acquire a target, a second sniper shot cracked through the gloom.
The bullet struck Marcus squarely in the wrist of his gun-hand, shattering his grip and sending the pistol spinning away into the shadows. Marcus shrieked in agony, clutching his bloody wrist, collapsing to his knees against the iron railing.
Harlan reached us in a heartbeat, scooping both Belle and me into his massive arms, shielding us with his own body as he dragged us behind the thick, concrete-reinforced base of an old assembly machine.
"Are you hit?" Harlan demanded, his dark eyes scanning my face with frantic intensity before checking Belle over from head to toe.
"We're fine! We're okay!" I gasped, holding Belle tightly against my chest as the little girl sobbed hysterically into my shoulder. "She's safe, Harlan. She's safe."
Harlan let out a ragged breath, pulling us both tighter against him for a brief, fiercely protective second. Then, his expression hardened into stone. He drew his Sig Sauer pistol from his holster, leaning around the concrete barrier.
"Stay down," he commanded, and stepped out into the open.
Marcus was crawling across the dusty concrete of the upper catwalk, his right hand dripping blood, desperately dragging himself toward the emergency stairwell escape hatch.
Harlan climbed the metal stairs three at a time, his boots clanking with a terrifying, rhythmic cadence. He reached the upper landing just as Marcus managed to pull himself up to the door handle.
Harlan grabbed Marcus by the collar of his trench coat, hauled him backward with brutal, effortless strength, and slammed him hard against the iron wall.
"You should have stayed dead in that parking garage, Marcus," Harlan whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, razor-sharp register that made the blood run cold.
"Do it," Marcus snarled, coughing up a spatter of blood, a defiant, blood-stained grin twisting his lips. "Kill me, Harlan. You think I’m the only one? You think Arthur Sterling’s syndicate ends with me? There are ten more waiting in New York to take my place. The board is already voting on your replacement."
"Let them vote," Harlan stated coldly. He didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he slammed the butt of his pistol against the side of Marcus’s head, knocking the rogue operative out cold.
Down on the assembly floor, the heavy iron doors of the Packard Plant swung open with a loud crash. A dozen tactical guards in black tactical gear poured into the building, securing the perimeter, sweeping the catwalks, and locking down every exit.
Harlan descended the stairs, walking back across the concrete floor toward us. He knelt down beside the concrete barrier where I sat holding Belle, the little girl finally calming down in the safety of my arms.
Harlan reached out, his large, warm hand gently touching Belle’s dark curls. "You did brilliantly, sweetie," he whispered to her, before lifting his dark, unblinking gaze to mine.
"And you, Rue," Harlan said, his voice softening into a deep, resonant baritone. "You walked into the mouth of the wolf, and you didn't flinch."
May you like
I looked up at him, the adrenaline slowly draining from my veins, leaving behind a profound, unshakable reality. The war was over. The moles were unearthed, the ghosts were buried, and the empire was secure.
"I told you," I replied softly, offering a faint, weary smile. "I’m not a waitress anymore."
