Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Agency
“Look who decided to join the party,” I growled, pressing my pistol barrel into the commander’s throat. “Agent Miller. Whitaker’s golden boy.”
Miller gasped for air, his eyes wide with fear under the dim red emergency lights. “You... you were supposed to be fired! Whitaker said you were a useless rookie!”
“Whitaker was wrong,” Ethan said, stepping out from the smoke, his gun leveled at Miller’s forehead. “Where is my aunt, Miller? Give us a location, or I leave you in this cellar with my father’s dogs.”
Miller shuddered. “I don't know the exact address! It’s an abandoned shipping terminal at Dock 42 in New Jersey! Whitaker is there right now with Marcus Vance! They’re waiting for the signal that Ethan and Grant are dead!”
I looked at Ethan. “If Whitaker is at Dock 42 with Marcus Vance, that means the entire leadership of the strike force is concentrated in one place.”
“And my mother is there,” Tyler said, his trembling voice echoing from the top of the cellar stairs. He had followed us down, holding an old iron poker from the fireplace. “Please... you have to save her.”
Ethan turned to me. “We can’t wait for federal authorities. Whitaker controls the regional dispatch network. If we call the police, his moles will clear the terminal before we arrive.”
“Then we don't call the police,” I said, checking my magazine. “We take Grant’s private strike team and execute a black-ops breach.”
Grant Blackwood walked down the cellar stairs, his silver hair highlighted by the red emergency lights, holding a heavy tactical rifle. Behind him, his loyal guards held a bound and gagged Reynolds.
“My private helicopter is prepped on the north pad,” Grant declared, his voice cold and iron-clad. “I’ve already contacted my contacts in the federal prosecutor’s office. They’re standing by for hard evidence. But my family comes first.”
Grant looked at me, stepping closer until he was standing directly in front of me.
“I made a mistake two days ago,” the Mafia King said, his voice carrying a rare, solemn weight. “I said no woman could guard my son. I was wrong. You are the finest security officer I have ever seen.”
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He reached into his jacket and pulled out an iron crest featuring the Blackwood eagle—the mark of absolute authority within his empire. He placed it in my palm.
“Command my men,” Grant said. “Bring my sister home. And put an end to Marcus Vance.”
