Chapter 70
CHAPTER
SEVENTY
The recoil shocked Natalie and nearly knocked her backward. The sound was deafening, louder than she’d imagined.
But the bullet flew true.
Dimitri jerked, his shot going wide, the bullet sparking off a container ten feet from Hudson. Dimitri spun toward Natalie, rage and surprise warring on his face.
She pulled the trigger again. And again.
One shot hit his shoulder—the same one that was already bleeding. Another went wide.
But it was enough.
Dimitri stumbled, going down on one knee.
The next instant, the FBI poured into the container yard like a tidal wave—dozens of agents in tactical gear, weapons drawn, voices shouting commands in that authoritative tone that meant they were taking control.
“Drop your weapons! Federal agents! Face-down on the ground!”
Brass’s remaining men started surrendering, hands going up, weapons clattering to concrete.
It was over.
Or at least, that was what Natalie thought . . . until she looked back toward Hudson and Brass.
Hudson heard the commotion around him. Heard the gunfire. Saw the feds moving in.
But out of the corner of his eye, he also saw that Natalie was okay.
Relief filled him.
He wanted to run to her, but he couldn’t.
He had to finish this first.
He kept his gaze on Brass.
“You died.” Hudson’s voice sounded rough with emotion he couldn’t quite suppress. “We all thought you died, Brass. We mourned you. Your wife—your wife was devastated.”
“I know.” For just a moment, something flickered in Brass’s expression. Pain maybe. Or regret. “Had to be that way. Had to make it believable.”
“Why?” The question burst out of Hudson. “Why fake your own death? Why work with Sigma? Why betray everything we stood for?”
Brass laughed, but it was bitter and broken. “Everything we stood for? Hudson, do you even hear yourself? We stood for a lie. A system that used us up and threw us away.”
“How did you survive that helicopter crash?”
“The Russian mob found me. Pulled me out.” Brass’s laugh was humorless.
“Ironic, isn’t it? The people we were supposed to be fighting against saved my life.
It took me six months to recover. Another year of physical therapy before I could walk without assistance.
” Brass’s hand moved to his chest, almost unconsciously.
“The nerve damage never fully healed. I still can’t feel my left hand properly. ”
Hudson lowered his rifle slightly, grief and guilt warring in his chest. “Brass, I’m sorry that happened to you. We didn’t know.”
“I had to ask myself—what was the point?” Brass’s voice hardened. “We risked our lives, sacrificed everything, and for what? To protect a country that wouldn’t even acknowledge our existence? To die anonymously in some foreign market while politicians took credit for our victories?”
“So you founded Sigma,” Hudson said, the pieces finally clicking together. “This whole thing—the bombs, the hurricane, the power grid, all of it—you’ve been orchestrating everything from the beginning.”
Nausea roiled in his gut at the thought.