Thirteen
Orlov did not hurry.
That was the first thing Justin noticed when the hunter stepped into the chamber—Orlov didn’t move like prey or predator. He moved like an executioner who already owned the verdict.
He entered like the room already belonged to him, rifle low, posture loose, eyes sweeping every angle with cold certainty. Another figure slid from the tunnel’s mouth.
Smaller, black tactical gear, pale face, dark hair razor-tight—Irina. Striking. Alive with predatory alertness.
So this was what Sokolov had sent ahead—not just one blade, but two, honed for violence and precision.
Justin shifted his weight, feeling Charlie Team’s silent coordination settle around him. The chamber shrank, stone walls closing in, server’s hum swelling, every breath a countdown.
Orlov’s gaze moved across the room and paused on Anya.
Irina’s critical gaze went to the server banks. Then to Antonov. Then to Justin.
Interesting. Justin filed that away.
Irina was not assessing the room like a grunt rushing into a firefight. She was calculating value.
Orlov’s voice carried across the chamber with almost conversational ease. “You went farther than expected.”
Justin calmed his pulse and kept his weapon trained at center mass. “You sound disappointed.”
“Not at all,” Orlov replied. “This saves time.”
Irina tilted her head slightly, her eyes still moving, still assessing. “You were supposed to die in the tunnel.”
Frosty muttered softly from behind a bank of steel cabinets, “Good opener.”
Justin ignored Irina’s comment.
Anya didn’t. “You should have come yourself.”
A faint smile touched the hunter’s mouth. “I did.”
Then the lights died—half the chamber was swallowed in darkness. Emergency strips flickered on, bathing the room in blood-red gloom.
Justin didn’t think. He moved before the first shot broke. “Split!”
Charlie Team responded instantly, curling into their designated arcs. Ice pulled Antonov behind a reinforced console, while Charlie Three and Four veered left toward the generator banks. Charlie Five moved right, seeking cover near the glass training chambers.
Justin dropped low behind a steel workstation as suppressed rounds shredded the air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Orlov. Fast. Disciplined.
Charlie Team’s return fire erupted—sparks flying, bullets ricocheting, the chamber alive with muzzle flashes and the sharp bark of metal on stone.
Justin risked a glance to assess their situation and next move.
Irina had vanished. Of course she had. That made her the immediate problem.
With Orlov keeping pressure on the visible angles, Irina would take the blind side.
Justin keyed his comm. “Ghost is loose. Watch close.”
A thunderous burst of gunfire ripped through the chamber from Orlov’s position near the tunnel entrance. He wasn’t hunting bodies—he was hunting movement, pinning Charlie Team down and forcing them into a kill box. Every bullet was a chess move, every echo a countdown.
Justin rose with purpose, firing three controlled shots toward the tunnel mouth. Orlov smoothly retreated behind a stone cover, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times—wasting no motion.
Anya slid left, silent, behind an overturned desk—rifle shouldered, movements practiced and deadly. Having her at his side felt right—instinct over thought, trust over questions.
“Tunnel mouth,” he said.
“I know.”
That almost drew a smile out of him. Almost.
Before he could respond, Frosty shouted from the far side of the chamber. “Movement right!”
Justin turned just in time to see Irina slip out from between towering server racks—like a predator grown from the shadows. In one hand, a sleek pistol glinted; in the other, a knife flashed, her movements silent and lethal as she closed in on Gucci’s exposed flank.
Anya fired first—a shot that split the air, slamming into steel inches from Irina’s head. The clang echoed, Irina recoiling, diving for cover—not hit, but rattled. The message was clear: not today.
Justin lunged forward, each of his three powerful strides pushing him closer to his goal. Using the server bank as a strategic shield, he moved stealthily toward Gucci with focused determination.
Irina moved with swift, silent precision, slipping from the rack with a predator’s grace, blade flashing in the red gloom.
Justin caught her wrist just before the knife could bite, slamming her into the metal rack. The crash echoed—a brutal punctuation in the chaos.
She twisted instantly, aiming to bring the pistol around under his arm, her movements swift and sure—she was no rookie.
He drove his forearm into her elbow with force, triggering the weapon to discharge chaotically. The bullet zinged past harmlessly, embedding itself in the ceiling.
She smiled at him—feral, almost mocking. “You’re the protector.”
In answer, he surged forward, driving his shoulder into her centerline with force, enough to send her stumbling backward across the concrete.
She let the knife go before he could trap it.
Smart.
A second blade flickered into her hand—conjured from nowhere, a snake’s strike.
Also smart.
Justin didn’t waste time admiring her training. He drew and fired.
Irina threw herself sideways behind the server rack and vanished again.
Orlov’s suppressive fire intensified immediately, rounds chewing across the workstation beside Anya’s cover.
Justin dropped beside her. “She’s good.” He sounded almost impressed. Almost.
Anya didn’t take her eyes off the scope. “I know.”
“What’s your angle?”
Anya’s voice stayed cool. “Orlov first.”
That was not the answer he expected. Before he could argue, she shifted one inch left and fired.
The round shattered the tunnel’s stone edge, sending shards flying past Orlov’s cover. No hit—just a calculated warning.
Orlov answered with three quick shots that forced both of them lower.
Justin looked at her. “You’re baiting him.”
“Yes.”
He almost objected. Then he realized she was right.
Orlov thought he knew her rhythm—trained to hunt snipers, he anticipated caution and patience at every turn.
She was breaking that rhythm on purpose.
Justin shifted with her, closing the gap by a hair, angling his body to cover her blind side. His arm brushed hers—steady, deliberate, not holding her back. Just holding the line.
Just there. Holding the line with her.
Anya didn’t look at him, didn’t break the contact. She leaned into the shared angle—silent trust, wordless coordination.
For a split second, the chaos around them sharpened into something clean—two points, one line of fire.
Then the moment snapped.
Across the chamber, Ice’s voice cut through the comm. “Charlie One.”
“Go,” Justin replied.
“Antonov says the server core is wired.”
Justin’s gaze snapped toward the central racks.
If they pressed too hard or lost control, Silent Night’s data would vanish—erased in a flash, and the consequences would be catastrophic.
Of course. Why couldn’t it be easy?
Orlov would never leave anything important unrigged.
“Timer?” Justin asked.
Antonov answered this time, voice tight from behind the console.
“Could be manual. Could be pressure-triggered.”
Justin swore softly.
They had two elite hunters in the room, and a live data core wired to self-destruct if they made a wrong move. One mistake and Silent Night’s history would burn.
Perfect.
Charlie Four fired from the generator side, forcing Orlov deeper into the tunnel entrance. Charlie Five shifted with her, trying to angle for a cross shot.
That’s when Irina made her reappearance—but not beside Justin. Instead, she was close to Ice.
She darted across the console line in a flurry of motion, knife held low and pistol already sweeping from its holster.
Ice reacted just a fraction slower than Justin would have preferred, but fast enough for most men to handle. He raised the rifle in time, turning what could have been a fatal shot into a grazing hit across her vest instead of a direct center strike.
Then Irina’s blade flashed toward the seam beneath his arm.
Justin moved too far to stop it cleanly.
Anya made the first move, ditching her rifle. She lunged across the gap in just two swift steps, striking Irina fiercely from the side and knocking both women down onto the concrete floor.
The chamber snapped from chaos to a tense, complex showdown—two battle lines: Orlov maneuvering through the tunnel, Irina locked in close-quarters combat with Anya. Every move was a test of skill and resolve.
Justin fired toward the tunnel entrance to keep Orlov pinned, then trusted Anya to do what she did best. That wasn’t blind trust—that was math.
Anya and Irina crashed to the floor—a blur of limbs, blades, and raw aggression. Every strike was a lesson in violence, every move calculated, desperate, relentless. Two predators fighting for the first and last opening.
Irina’s knee slammed up.
Anya blocked. She used her elbow to the throat, applied a wrist lock, and redirected the knife.
Irina staggered back, blood at her lip, eyes flashing with something that looked almost like admiration. “You really move like him.”
Anya answered with a rib strike that would have folded anyone else—Irina took it, staggered, and smiled again.
Irina took the hit, staggered, and smiled again.
Justin hated her immediately—too skilled, too calm, too much like the ghosts they were all running from.
Orlov chose that moment to break from cover.
Justin caught the flicker in his peripheral vision just in time and fired. But Orlov was already shifting right, using the tunnel supports to move swiftly toward the server core. Not random—focused.
“He’s going for the racks!” Gucci shouted.
Justin pivoted sharply and charged across the chamber at full speed. Orlov fired a shot, forcing him to duck, but Orlov swiftly vaulted over a steel support with a confident, fluid motion—clear evidence that he knew exactly how much time was left on the board.
Justin grunted, driving a hard tackle as he slammed Orlov into the concrete and rack supports—metal ringing, pain flaring. Orlov rolled instantly, trying to bring the rifle to bear in the chaos.
Justin trapped the barrel under his forearm, then swung with a clenched fist, smashing into the hunter’s jaw.
Orlov barely seemed to feel it. He responded with a brutal punch to Justin’s ribs that expelled all the air from him.
Good.
Finally, a fight worth having.
Justin shifted swiftly, gripping Orlov’s shoulder firmly as he skillfully levered him toward the exposed rack edge.
The man suddenly jerked free with startling speed, revealing a combat knife clenched in his left hand.
Justin’s gun was half out of line, but he was too close to fire.
Orlov slashed.
Justin’s arm snapped up, catching the blade inches from his throat. Pain flared—a shallow cut, but sharp enough to remind him how close he’d come.
Orlov looked at the cut and then at Justin with cool interest. “You bleed for her easily.”
Justin lunged and delivered a brutal head-butt, cartilage shattering. Pain exploded through his skull, but adrenaline and necessity drowned it out.
The hunter staggered back two steps, blood streaming from his nose, eyes never leaving Justin’s.
Justin fired—one clean shot, center mass.
Orlov twisted, the round hitting high in his shoulder—not enough to drop him. He vanished behind the rack, gone again.
Irina darted across the chamber, breaking contact and retreating into the distant service corridor, using the towering server banks to shield herself from Anya’s shot.
Anya swiftly grabbed her rifle and aimed, but it was already too late.
Irina vanished into the shadows.
The chamber plunged into a ringing silence, broken only by the hum of the racks and the ragged breaths of people who knew this was only round one.
Justin paused for a moment, weapon ready, listening.
No footsteps. No return fire. They were gone—completely vanished.
Ice straightened near the central console, blood trickling from a shallow cut along his forearm where Irina’s blade had sliced close enough to leave a mark.
“You all right?” Justin asked.
Ice flexed once, looking annoyed rather than injured. “She’s faster than she looks.”
“Everyone’s faster than they look when they’re trying to gut you.”
Ice huffed a strained laugh.
Antonov remained crouched behind the console, pale and sweating now. “They’ll seal the west corridor next.”
Every head turned toward the man.
Justin kept his weapon on the dark service passage Irina had used. “Why?”
Antonov swallowed. “Because that’s where the data route goes.”
Anya stepped closer. “What data route?”
Antonov looked at the server racks as if they were a graveyard. “The prototype records.”
The air in the chamber seemed to thin.
Justin turned. “Explain.”
Antonov’s eyes flicked to Anya, then away. “This isn’t just a field node. It’s one of the archive spines. Evaluation reports. trainee logs. conditioning profiles. Survival indexes.” His voice dropped. “Everything.”
Everything.
Alex.
Anya.
Pierce.
The whole rotten history of Silent Night was buried in a mine under a dead village.
Justin looked back at the racks, then toward the dark corridor where Orlov and Irina had disappeared. His heart pounded. “They weren’t trying to kill us.”
Anya’s voice was just as cold. “No.”
Ice caught on first. “They were trying to delay us.”
“So the archive can move,” Justin finished as controlled anger swept through him.
Antonov nodded.
Deep behind the west corridor, a steel door slammed shut, echoing like the mountain itself had just locked them out. The enemy wasn’t running. They were moving the board.
Justin’s jaw tightened. “Charlie Team,” he said, voice cutting clean through the room, “new objective. We take the west corridor. Now!”
Anya’s eyes locked onto his across the murky red chamber, unwavering and determined.
Good.
Because if Silent Night wanted to run—
Silent Night wanted to run? They’d bleed for every step. Charlie Team was coming—and this time, they weren’t stopping until the board was clear.