Chapter 9
The GPS coordinates led Christopher through the labyrinth of decaying brick warehouses on the industrial waterfront, where rusted corrugated iron roofs rattled violently in the rising coastal wind. His unmarked sedan tires crunched over broken glass and gravel as he killed the engine, plunging the vehicle into sudden, suffocating darkness.
He stepped out into the freezing rain, drawing his sidearm from its holster with a smooth, practiced motion. The warehouse before him was massive, its broken windows gaping like hollow eye sockets against the gray sky.
“Miller, do you copy?” Christopher whispered into his tactical radio earpiece.
“Copy, Commander. We’re positioned at the rear perimeter,” Miller’s voice crackled back through the static. “Thermal imaging shows zero movement inside the main floor. The building appears abandoned.”
“They moved her,” Christopher said, his jaw tightening as he pushed open a rusted side door that groaned in protest.
He swept his flashlight beam across the cavernous interior. Dust motes danced in the pale beam, illuminating empty wooden pallets, rusted machinery, and peeling lead paint. There was no sign of Lily, no sign of guards, and no sign of the syndicate.
Suddenly, a small, blinking red light caught his eye from atop a wooden crate in the center of the room.
Christopher approached cautiously, his weapon raised, keeping his breathing slow and measured. Resting on the crate was a child’s pink hair ribbon—the exact one Lily had worn in her hair that morning before the wedding ceremony began.
Next to the ribbon sat a small, active walkie-talkie.
Christopher holstered his weapon, picked up the walkie-talkie, and pressed the talk button. “I’m here. Where is she?”
The device hissed with static before a familiar, cold voice filtered through the speaker. Not the synthetic voice from before, but a real, human voice—harsh and mocking.
“You played your hand very poorly, Commander. You thought you could outsmart a global network by uploading corrupted data to the Norfolk terminal?”
Christopher froze. “How did you—”
“We monitored the data packets the second they left your terminal. Your little trap didn't lock our servers; it locked the ventilation system of the bunker you were standing in just ten minutes ago,” the voice laughed darkly.
May you like
Christopher’s blood ran cold. He spun around toward the warehouse exit, but a loud, metallic crash echoed from the doorway as heavy steel shutters slammed down remotely, locking him inside the building.
Before he could process the trap, a blinding flash of light erupted from the rafters above, followed by a deafening explosion that blew out the back wall of the warehouse.
