CHAPTER 21 #2
Liam’s men, a smaller, more disciplined force, were already engaging.
The air was thick with flying metal and the screams of the wounded.
I saw Vasily, grim-faced and efficient, coordinating flanks, his own rifle a blur of motion.
Sergei, Anatoly – Liam’s most trusted enforcers – moved with brutal precision, cutting down Dmitri’s loyalists with ruthless efficiency.
But Dmitri’s position was strong, a fortress within a fortress. And his men, though outnumbered, fought with a desperate ferocity that could turn the tide. I needed to find a weakness. A vulnerability.
My gaze swept over the chamber, searching, analyzing.
My historian's eye, trained to decipher patterns and context, sought meaning in the chaos.
The flickering emergency light overhead cast long, distorted shadows, making it difficult to discern details.
But then I saw it. A series of thick, industrial pipes running along the ceiling, leading to the central platform.
And directly above Dmitri, a large, rusty valve, connected to a feeder pipe.
What was in those pipes? Water? Steam? Chemicals? This was an old foundry. Old systems. If it was steam, or even just a burst of water, it could create enough of a distraction, a momentary blind spot, to turn the tide.
I remembered the schematics I’d seen back at the safe house, the ones Liam had spread across the tactical map.
My mind, sharp and analytical, sifted through the architectural details, the structural weaknesses, the operational systems of such a complex.
There were pressure valves, override panels for emergency shutdowns, older, manual controls.
A flash of movement. Liam. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, closing in on Dmitri’s position, taking down two of his men with swift, brutal efficiency.
But Dmitri himself was heavily guarded, almost untouchable.
He laughed, a raw, manic sound that echoed through the foundry, as another of Liam’s men fell.
My heart seized. I had to do something. I couldn’t just hide. I was his partner. His queen.
My gaze went back to the pipes. They snaked towards a control panel, tucked away in a shadowed alcove on the far side of the chamber, opposite Dmitri’s position. It was a risk. A huge, terrifying risk. But it was the only way.
“Liam!” I hissed into my comms, my voice barely a whisper, but laced with urgency. “The overhead pipes! Above Dmitri! Is there a control panel for the main feeder line? An emergency release valve?”
There was a moment of static, a burst of gunfire, then his voice, rough with exertion and fury. “What the fuck are you talking about, Rose? Stay down!”
“No!” I insisted, forcing myself to be heard.
My fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it was being overridden by a surging sense of purpose.
“The old control panel in the northwest corner, near the water pumps! The red valve! If I can reach it, I can trigger something overhead. A steam burst. A water surge. Enough to create a distraction, a blind spot for Dmitri’s men! ”
Silence for a terrifying moment, punctuated by more gunfire. Then, Liam’s voice, colder, sharper, a hint of something calculating in its depths. “Are you certain, moya roza? That area could be rigged. Traps.”
“I’m certain!” I lied, my heart pounding, but my conviction unwavering.
I wasn’t certain, but it was the most logical weakness I’d identified.
“It’s the most vulnerable point for a structural surprise.
Dmitri would focus on ground-level defenses.
He wouldn’t anticipate an overhead attack from the old systems.”
Another burst of gunfire. I saw Liam’s head snap in my direction, even from a distance, his steel-gray eyes, dangerous and calculating, finding me. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like me taking risks. But he was considering it. He trusted my mind, even when he fought my defiance.
“Vasily!” Liam barked into the comms, his voice cutting through the din. “Confirm Rose’s observation. Northwest control panel, main feeder line. Can we use it to our advantage?”
A moment later, Vasily’s voice, strained but clear.
“Affirmative, Pakhan! It controls the main cooling line for the old furnace. A manual override could release a burst of pressurized steam. Enough to create a total white-out for thirty seconds. But it’s exposed.
Anyone attempting it would be a sitting target. ”
My jaw tightened. Exposed. A sitting target. But it was a chance. Our chance.
“I can do it,” I whispered into my comms, my voice shaking slightly, but firm. “Distract them on the ground. Keep their focus. I’ll make a run for it.”
Another silence. I could almost hear Liam’s internal battle. His possessive instinct to protect me, to cage me, warring with his strategic mind, the part of him that would use any weapon, any advantage, to win.
Then, his voice, low and dangerous, filled my ear. “No. I’ll go with you. Vasily, Anatoly, keep the pressure on Dmitri. Maintain suppressing fire. Sergei, cover our approach to that panel. Provide a fucking diversion.”
My breath hitched. He wasn’t sending me. He was coming with me. He was putting himself in even more danger, all to protect me. A strange, fierce warmth spread through my chest, chasing away some of the cold fear. The bastard. My terrifying, protective bastard.
“Ready, Rose?” he growled, appearing from the shadows of the furnace, his eyes fixed on mine, a dark challenge in their depths. He was still covered in blood and grime, but his focus was absolute. He didn’t ask if I wanted to. He asked if I was ready.
I nodded, my grip tightening on the Glock. “Ready.”
“Good,” he snarled, a grim satisfaction in his tone.
He didn’t take my hand this time. He just moved, a shadow among shadows, darting across the open space, hugging the perimeter walls, utilizing every piece of cover available.
I followed, my injured foot protesting, but my resolve burning brighter than ever.
The gunfire intensified around us. Sergei’s team had started a diversionary attack, drawing Dmitri’s men’s attention to another section of the chamber.
Bullets still whizzed past, close enough to make my ears ring, to feel the displacement of air, but the main focus of the battle had shifted.
This was our window. Our terrifying, bloody window.
We reached the alcove. The control panel was ancient, rusted, its levers stiff, its red valve almost seized. It was old, manual, dangerous. Just as I’d predicted.