It disintegrated under the force of a battering ram. "Fall back to the workshop," Frank roared, firing his pistol blindly into the swirling smoke of the hallway to suppress the advancing tactical team. Sarah coughed, her eyes stinging from the tear gas. She gripped the back of Frank's leather vest, stumbling through the kitchen and out the side door. The night air was alive with the crack-thump of suppressed gunfire.
Big Mike was already outside using a parked pickup truck as cover, laying down suppressing fire with an AR-15 to keep the mercenaries at bay. They sprinted across the open ground to the metal workshop. Bullets kicked up geysers of dirt at their heels. They dove inside and Big Mike slammed the heavy rolling steel door shut, bolting it just as a hail of bullets pinged against the metal like angry hail. They were trapped.
The workshop was a fortress. But it was also a tomb. We can't hold them off forever, Mike grunted, checking his magazine. I've got maybe two clips left. We don't need forever, Frank said, wiping sweat and soot from his eyes.
We just need to survive until sunrise. The state police are two hours out. "I called a contact in the DOJ before the power cut. Suddenly, the firing stopped. The silence that followed was heavier than the noise.
"Frank Russo. " A voice boomed from a megaphone outside. It was Deputy Chief "Holloway. " "There's no way out. Give us the drive and the girl, and the rest of you ride away.
Go to hell, Holloway, Frank shouted back. "I thought you might say that," Holloway replied, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "So I brought an old friend to convince you, someone who really wants to talk to his wife. " Sarah froze. "Wife!
"Sarah! " the voice was shaky, pathetic. It was a voice she had heard in her nightmares for six months. "Gary," she whispered. "Come out, "Sarah!
" Gary yelled, his voice cracking. "Please," they said if you come out, they'll let me go. I don't want to die. " Frank looked at "Sarah. " His expression was unreadable.
"It's your call. " Sarah walked to the small reinforced window of the workshop. She peered out. In the glare of the floodlights, Holloway stood behind a kneeling figure. It was Gary.
He looked broken, bruised, crying, wearing a torn suit. A gun was pressed to the back of his head. "He's alive," Sarah said, stunned. "Yeah," Frank muttered. "and he led them right to us.
" Then the twist hit Sarah like a physical blow. She remembered the timing, the envelope, the eviction notice. The collectors. He didn't send me the drive to save me. Sarah realized, her voice hardening.