Chapter 6 - The Architect of Shadows"Boss, the ground floor is compromised," Prescott’s voice crackled over the comms, breathless and strained. "They’ve got heavy ordnance blocking the ambulance bay. We’re boxed in."
I looked down at Jonah and Blythe. Their chest movements were agonizingly slow. The portable life-support unit was blinking a yellow low-battery warning. We had maybe ten minutes before the batteries died, and without them, my children would suffocate in seconds.
"Yates," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Take the medical gear and use the laundry chute shaft. It drops straight down to the sub-basement alleyway where our backup vehicle is idling. Get the kids out."
"And you?" Yates asked, his eyes wide with horror.
"I'm going to have a chat with Arthur Cross."
Before Yates could argue, I pulled the Sig Sauer P320 from my holster, racked the slide, and stepped out into the bullet-riddled hallway.
The overhead fluorescent lights flickered and died, plunging the corridor into deep, flickering shadows cast only by the emergency strobe lights. At the far end of the hall, standing beside the bullet-scarred elevator banks, was a tall, silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit. He wasn't wearing tactical gear. He looked like a board chairman stepping off a private jet.
Arthur Cross smiled, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"Lawson," Cross said smoothly, his voice echoing off the tile walls. "I must admit, your little empire out in the suburbs is quite impressive. But you really should have stayed out of genetic pharmacology. It’s a messy business."
"You killed my wife," I said, walking forward slowly, my boots crunching on broken glass, the barrel of my pistol locked steadily on the center of his chest.
"Genevieve was a brilliant asset," Cross sighed, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "She gave us the breakthrough we needed for the synthetic retrovirus. But she developed a conscience. She thought she could hide her genetic offspring from us. And look at them now—rotting from the inside out, exactly as coded."
My finger tightened on the trigger. "Give me the override sequence."
Cross chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "You think I have it memorized in my head? The sequence is locked inside the main server banks in Zurich. And the only biometric key that can unlock it without triggering a self-destruct is a direct genetic match from Genevieve’s children. That’s why I need them, Lawson. Alive, preferably. But I'll settle for their bone marrow if I have to."
"You won't touch them," I whispered.
"I already have," Cross smiled, lifting his wrist to tap a sleek communication device. "Strike team Alpha, initiate perimeter sweep of the laundry sub-basement. Secure the targets."
My blood ran cold. He had anticipated the laundry chute escape route.
Without a second thought, I pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang!
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The muzzle flash illuminated the dark hallway, but Cross had already dropped sideways, rolling behind the reinforced steel pillar as two rounds buried themselves into the concrete wall behind him.
I sprinted toward the service stairs, ignoring the alarms screaming in my ears, knowing that if Prescott and Yates didn't reach the sub-basement in time, my children were dead.
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