The silence that happens when someone very, very good is moving through the dark.
My pulse kicks.
I sit up on the cot. Slowly. No sound. My feet find the cold floor and I stand, pressing myself against the wall beside the door. I pick up the chair leg I broke off hours ago and grip it tight.
Downstairs, one of the Castillo men murmurs. A question. His voice carries confusion, not alarm. He's noticed something wrong but hasn't identified it yet. A shadow out of place. A camera feed gone dark. A perimeter guard who didn't check in.
Then the first shot comes.
Muffled. Suppressed. A softthwipfollowed by athudthat I feel through the floor more than hear.
Then another.
Then another.
I press my back to the wall, chair leg raised, heart slamming against my ribs.
He's here.
Chapter Thirteen: Leone
Theindustrialdistrictisdead at 1 AM.
No traffic. No pedestrians. empty loading docks and shuttered warehouses and the distant hum of the expressway a half mile south. The streetlights are spaced far apart, pools of orange in a sea of black, and between them the darkness is absolute.
Darkness is where I work best.
We park the SUV three blocks out, behind a derelict shipping container that smells like rust and stale water. Engine off. Lights off. I check my gear one final time. Rifle slung across my chest, suppressor threaded tight. Glock on my right hip. Knife on my left. Four extra magazines in the vest pouches. Flash grenades clipped to the front plate.
Claudio is beside me, running through the same ritual. He moves without sound, every motion economical, conserving energy for what's coming. His face is blank. Operational. Whatever he feels about what we're about to do, he's stored it somewhere I can't see.
Emilio is in the driver's seat, watching the safehouse through a pair of binoculars he produced from somewhere I didn't ask about.
"Two on the front door," he says quietly. "One smoking. One on his phone. There's a third on the roof, northwest corner, but he's sitting down. Hasn't moved in ten minutes."
"Cameras?"
"Two visible. One above the entrance, one covering the east side. Probably more inside."
"If they're running the same Apex Meridian surveillance system, the feeds could be monitored remotely."
"Then whoever's watching is about to get a show."
I study the building through the windshield. Three stories. Old brick, industrial era, converted into something functional but not fortified. Loading bay on the south side, personnel door on the east, main entrance on the west. The windows on the first floor are boarded. Second floor, dark. Third floor, one window showing a faint glow.
Third floor.
That's where she is. I know it the way I know my own heartbeat. They'd put her high. Away from the exits. Harder to reach, easier to control. One stairwell, one hallway, a steel door between her and freedom.
Fourteen men between me and that door.
I’ve gone through more in the line-up for a cheeseburger.
"Here's how we move," I say. "Emilio, you take the roof. Eliminate the spotter, then cover us from elevation. Claudio, we breach through the loading bay on the south side. It's the least visible approach and puts us closest to the east stairwell. We clear ground floor together, then move up."
"Rules of engagement?" Claudio asks.
"Anyone holding a weapon dies. Anyone who surrenders gets zip-tied. Anyone between me and the third floor gets one chance to step aside."
