Chapter 36 - The Steel Foundry
Four heavily armored, blacked-out SUVs tore through the desolate highways connecting South Chicago to Gary, Indiana. The rain beat against the reinforced glass like gravel. Outside, the decayed, rusted silhouettes of blast furnaces and towering smokestacks rose into the night sky like the skeletal remains of a forgotten civilization.
"Thermal scans show two dozen heat signatures inside the main blast furnace hall," Dominic reported via the encrypted comms link from the lead vehicle. "Heavy perimeter sensors around the rail switch tracks. They have snipers posted on the two eastern cooling towers."
"We cut the power to their mobile generators first," Vincent commanded into his tactical headset. He was fully outfitted in matte-black tactical gear, looking less like a billionaire CEO and more like the lethal operative his father had trained him to be. "Team Two, take out the cooling tower perches with suppressed fire. Dominic, breach the western maintenance gate. Emma and I will enter through the lower slag runoff tunnel."
"Understood," Dominic responded.
The vehicles killed their headlights a mile out, coasting to a silent halt behind a massive heap of coal slag. Emma’s pulse hammered in her ears as she stepped out into the freezing mud and rain. The suppressed pistol at her hip felt heavy, foreign, and deadly, but the thought of Leo crying in the dark replaced all fear with ice-cold resolve.
Vincent moved with terrifying speed and silence. He slipped through the rusted chain-link fence where Dominic had breached the perimeter, his movements calculated and predatory. Emma followed two paces behind, keeping low beneath the shadow of abandoned railcars.
*Thwip. Thwip.*
Two muffled pops sounded high above them. Seconds later, a mercenary tumbled from the metal catwalk of the first cooling tower, landing silently in an overgrown patch of weeds. Team Two had neutralized the outer perimeter.
Vincent reached the rusted iron hatch leading to the subterranean runoff tunnel. He pulled a compact hydraulic pry bar from his vest, jamming it into the rusted seam and applying smooth, relentless force until the bolt sheared off with a dull crunch.
He eased the hatch open, gesturing for Emma to follow him down into the subterranean corridor. The air below was thick with the stench of sulfur, damp concrete, and motor oil.
From deeper inside the sprawling complex, the muffled sound of a child crying drifted down the tunnel, followed by a harsh slap and a man’s angry bark: *"Quiet, brat! Before I make sure you never speak again!"*
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Emma’s vision tinted red. Vincent’s grip on his rifle tightened until his knuckles turned pure white. He looked back at Emma, his eyes burning like molten gold.
"Nobody touches your family," Vincent whispered, lethal and cold. "Move."
