Chapter 6 - The Rising Tide
The cold hit like a million needles.
The black river water roared into the concrete chamber, smashing over rusted machinery and sending heavy wooden crates crashing against the walls. Within thirty seconds, the water was up to our waists, swirling in violent, freezing currents.
"Vance! Status!" I shouted over the deafening roar of the incoming surge.
"Blast doors are three-inch reinforced steel!" Vance yelled back, holding onto an iron support beam as the current nearly swept him off his feet. "My explosive charges won't dent them!"
Daniel wiped freezing water from his face, his eyes searching the high concrete ceiling. "The ventilation shaft! Top corner above the main breaker box! It leads to the dry dock pump room!"
I looked up. Twenty feet above us, near the ceiling, was a square iron ventilation grate.
"We need a lift!" I roared.
The water rose with terrifying speed—chest-high, then neck-high.
"Every man on the machinery frame!" I ordered.
We scrambled onto a heavy steel lathe machine anchored to the concrete floor, giving us four feet of elevation above the rising flood.
I grabbed a tactical grappling hook from my belt, secured the high-tensile steel cable to my launcher, and aimed straight at the iron ventilation grate.
THWACK!
The three-pronged steel hook shattered the grate, locking firmly around the heavy iron frame inside the duct.
"Daniel! You go first!" I commanded, shoving the climbing harness into his hands.
"Not a chance, Julian!" Daniel refused, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. "You're the old man here! Get up there!"
"I'm the boss, Mercer!" I barked. "And your son is waiting for you in Manhattan! Move!"
Daniel swallowed hard, nodded, hooked his carabiner to the cable, and engaged the motorized winch. The winch hummed loudly, pulling him up through the rushing spray of water into the narrow opening of the air duct.
One by one, Vance and the tactical team ascended the cable.
I was the last. By the time I hooked my harness to the line, the freezing river water was touching my chin. My fingers were numb, my chest burning from the icy cold.
I hit the winch button.
The motor groaned, hauling me out of the black water just as the workshop filled entirely to the ceiling.
I pulled myself into the narrow, dry steel duct, panting heavily, my body shivering violently from hypothermia.
Daniel reached down, grabbing my tactical vest, and dragged me fully into the crawlspace.
"Told you you were getting old," Daniel gasped, offering a weak smile.
"Shut up and give me a rifle," I growled, taking a weapon from Vance.
We crawled through fifty yards of narrow ventilation piping, following the air current until we reached an exhaust outlet overlooking the main floor of Warehouse 19.
Below us, the scene was pure chaos.
Victor Kane stood near the center of the vast industrial floor, surrounded by fifteen remaining mercenaries. He was wearing an expensive trench coat, holding a heavy satellite phone, his face pale with rising panic.
"Where are they?!" Kane was screaming at an enforcer. "They should be drowned by now! Send a team down to check the observation window!"
"They aren't drowned, Victor," I called out, my voice echoing like thunder from the high rafters.
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Kane froze. He slowly looked up toward the ceiling.
I kicked the ventilation louvers outward, and my team opened fire from the high ground!
