Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Asher calculated each step on the metal catwalk, silent, his weapon raised as he cleared room after empty room. No enemies, so far.
Grant and Bartlett had taken out the few commandos assigned to the factory floor. They were down there now, holding off anybody who tried to get inside.
The firefight continued outside, but based on what he was hearing through the comms, Callan, Yartym, and Whiteman were observing the carnage from afar.
Gagnon’s second team had arrived, and they were taking out the first team, along with all the men Gagnon had brought with him.
Was there a third team coming to take out the second? Maybe Gagnon thought he could control these new guys. Or they couldn’t ID him.
Yeah, that was probably it.
The guy didn’t leave loose ends.
Like Cici.
Dust motes danced in the crimson emergency lighting, and the scent of death permeated everything. A trail of blood led him toward a door at the end of a corridor.
Through it, he heard two men arguing.
Cici had to be in there.
Asher pressed himself against the wall, straining to make out the words. One voice carried the cultured menace he recognized as Gagnon. The other was rougher. Souza, most likely.
Something about a bird? And then…
“She’s our ticket out of here.” That smooth voice belonged to Gagnon. “The only leverage we have left.”
He was talking about Cici.
Asher itched to bang through that door, to fire off two shots and take both enemies down. Except Cici was in there.
A gunshot rang from below. Another answered. “Got him,” Bartlett said.
“Second team is moving toward the factory,” Whiteman said. “Should I pursue?”
“Negative. Hold your position. They won’t get inside.”
Alyssa’s voice cut through, urgent and clipped. “Dad got the satellite repositioned. Helicopter approaching. Two miles out.”
Asher’s blood turned to ice. A helicopter meant escape. It meant Gagnon could disappear—and he’d take Cici with him.
“How much time?” Callan’s voice was tight with tension.
“Two minutes,” she said, “maybe less.”
“Contact that pilot,” Grant barked. “Tell him if he gets close, we’ll shoot him out of the sky.”
“With what?” The skepticism in Bartlett’s voice was palpable. “The closest thing we have to a bazooka is bubble gum.”
“They don’t know what we have,” Grant said.
The commandos outside weren’t just cleaning up Gagnon’s mess. They would provide clearance. Asher wanted to say as much but feared he’d be heard through the door.
He was trying to figure out how to get in and protect Cici when Alyssa’s voice rang through comms.
“It’s a military copter.” Gone was her dispassionate tone. The words rang with fear. “Pilot refuses to back down. Says if we engage, so will he.”
A beat of silence, and then Bartlett said, “I’m not shooting at military.”
“Same,” Whiteman said. “Sorry, but I’m not going to prison for this.”
Prison? Asher didn’t care about prison. He cared about rescuing the woman he loved, no matter what it took.
But he was rendered silent, too close to the enemy to risk speaking.
“Anyone have eyes on the fire escape?” Grant asked.
“Not close enough,” Callan said. “Moving that direction. There’re enemies—”
His words were cut off by gunfire.
Asher felt the helicopter hovering overhead. It would land at any second. He couldn’t count on Callan getting into position in time.
If he wanted to save Cici, it was up to him.