Chapter 11 - The Laser Grid
The red laser dots danced erratically across the oil-stained concrete, painting a deadly constellation over the workbench where the incriminating files lay scattered. Miller’s mind operated at lightning speed, calculating angles, cover, and reaction times. The tactical operatives outside had superior positioning and overlapping fields of fire, but Vance was standing within arm's reach.
"Don't do it, Miller," Williams hissed, his weapon still locked on Vance's chest. "If we hand over those files, every person who helped us will be hunted down and executed within twenty-four hours."
Julian didn't hesitate. With a sudden, explosive movement, he grabbed the heavy black duffel bag, swept the remaining manila folders inside, and hoisted it over his shoulder.
"We're not giving them a damn thing," Julian yelled, lunging sideways behind the skeletal chassis of a rusted pickup truck just as a hail of suppressed gunfire erupted from the open bay door.
Clang! Ping! Thud!
Bullets chewed through sheet metal and shattered old windshields, sending a blinding cloud of safety glass and rusted iron shards flying across the garage.
"Return fire! Suppress the doorway!" Miller shouted, diving behind a concrete hydraulic lift and squeezing off three rapid rounds toward the flashing muzzles outside.
Williams dropped beside her, laying down heavy cover fire with his service pistol, forcing the lead tactical operatives to duck behind the reinforced engine blocks of the SUVs.
Director Vance didn't panic. With terrifying calmness, he simply stepped backward out of the line of fire, sliding behind the protective steel frame of an industrial shelving unit as the firefight escalated.
"Miller, we're pinned!" Clara screamed, cowering behind a workbench near the back wall as a stream of rounds punched splintered wood directly over her head. "There's no other exit! The windows are barred!"
Miller scanned the interior of the garage while suppressing the doorway with another magazine reload. Her eyes caught a heavy steel chain hanging from an overhead winch system directly above the center aisle—the exact chain controlling the old roof ventilation hatch.
"Williams, keep them pinned for five seconds!" Miller commanded, springing up from behind the hydraulic lift.
Before Williams could argue, Miller sprinted across the open floor, dodging a spray of bullets that kicked up concrete dust at her heels. She leaped upward, catching the heavy iron chain with both hands and wrapping her legs around the links.
"Julian, toss me the bag!" Miller roared over the deafening cacophony of gunfire.
Julian popped up from behind the truck bed, heaving the heavy black canvas duffel through the air with all his strength. Miller caught the strap with one hand while desperately pulling the chain downward with the other.
With a screech of rusted gears, the heavy steel ventilation hatch in the ceiling popped open, flooding the smoky interior of the garage with a shaft of cool night air and moonlight.
"Clara, climb the shelving unit! Get to the roof!" Miller ordered, dropping back to the floor as a bullet grazed the shoulder of her tactical jacket, tearing the fabric.
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Clara scrambled frantically up the industrial metal shelves like a frightened animal, hoisting herself through the open ceiling hatch just as the lead tactical operative advanced past the threshold of the garage floor, raising his carbine directly toward Miller's chest.
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