Chapter 4 - The Shadow War
At 5:30 A.M., the sky over Baltimore was a bruise-colored violet, heavy with winter fog rolling off the river.
In the basement level of Johns Hopkins Hospital, three black delivery vans pulled into the private service bay. The side doors slid open quietly, and sixteen men dressed in black tactical gear, carrying suppressed submachine guns, stepped out onto the concrete floor.
Leading them was Julian Croft—a tall, lean man with slicked-back brown hair and a narrow, ferret-like face. He carried a heavy pistol and a military-grade detonator in his hand.
"Listen up," Julian hissed to his men. "DeLuca has eight guards on the eighth floor. We take the service elevators, cut the power to the floor, and secure the kid and the waitress. Once we have the girl, DeLuca will surrender without firing a single shot. The man has gone soft over a homeless waitress."
The men nodded, pulling their night-vision goggles down over their faces.
Julian stepped toward the elevator control panel and pressed the keycard he had stolen from a bribed security guard.
The digital display above the door flickered.
Then, instead of opening, the heavy steel elevator doors locked shut with a loud, mechanical CLANG.
The red emergency lights in the service bay suddenly bloomed to life, bathing the entire underground garage in a deep, crimson glare.
Over the garage’s public address system, a quiet, deep voice echoed off the concrete walls:
"You always were impatient, Julian."
Julian froze, his eyes darting wildly toward the rafters. "DeLuca!"
High above the garage floor, on the catwalk overlooking the bay, Vincent DeLuca stepped out of the shadows.
He was wearing a dark tactical vest over a black sweater, a heavy rifle held comfortably in his right hand. Beside him stood Marco and twenty fully armed Calloway security operatives, their laser sights painting bright red dots across the chests of Julian’s men.
"You thought I didn't know about your little meeting with Victor Moretti in Philadelphia?" Vincent’s cold voice boomed over the speakers. "You thought I would let you bring guns into a hospital where sick children are sleeping?"
"Shoot him! SHOOT HIM!" Julian screamed, lunging behind a concrete pillar.
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK!
The underground garage erupted into a deafening storm of suppressed gunfire.
Vincent’s men fired with surgical precision from the high ground. Julian’s mercenaries, trapped in the open bay between their vans, were cut down in seconds. Tactical smoke canisters exploded across the floor, filling the room with thick gray mist.
Vincent moved down the iron stairs with terrifying, fluid speed.
Despite his healing shoulder, he moved like a shadow through the smoke, his rifle picking off enemy shooters before they could even locate his position.
Julian sprinted toward the far exit, his boots slapping wildly against the wet concrete. He shoved open the heavy steel fire door, bursting into the lower boiler room, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
"Going somewhere, Julian?"
Julian spun around, raising his pistol with shaking hands.
Vincent stood five feet away in the doorway, his rifle lowered at his side, his dark eyes burning with an ancient, unforgiving wrath.
"Vincent... please!" Julian whimpered, backing up against a hot steam pipe, his gun trembling violently. "Moretti made me do it! He threatened my family! He said he'd kill me if I didn't help him take the docks!"
"You put me in a car trunk, Julian," Vincent said softly, stepping closer. "You let me bleed in the rain. And then you brought armed men to the floor where a little boy was preparing for heart surgery."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Julian sobbed, dropping his gun onto the floor with a clatter, raising his hands. "I'll leave the city! I'll go to South America! You'll never see me again!"
Vincent stared at his former lieutenant for five long seconds.
"You're right, Julian," Vincent whispered. "I won't."
Vincent raised his hand. Marco stepped out from the shadows behind Julian, a heavy pair of zip-ties in hand.
"Take him to the harbor," Vincent ordered coldly. "Hand him over to the federal authorities along with the ledger of Moretti's illegal weapons shipments. Let Victor Moretti realize that his entire empire is being dismantled from the inside out."
"Understood, Boss," Marco said, slamming Julian facedown onto the concrete floor.
Vincent turned around, checking his wristwatch.
The hands showed 6:45 A.M.
May you like
He adjusted his vest, wiped a smear of soot from his cheek, and walked back toward the elevators.
He had a promise to keep.
