Chapter 16 - Fire in the Vault
The basement erupted into a blinding storm of muzzle flashes and deafening sound.
Julian fired twice from the hip, his high-velocity rounds catching the two mercenaries guarding Volkov’s left flank before they could even lower their rifles. Behind him, Miller and the Team Alpha operatives opened up with suppressed automatic fire, systematically clearing the hallway in a ruthless, highly trained display of tactical superiority.
"Clara! Down!" Julian shouted, shoving her behind a heavy steel utility boiler as bullets pinged off the metal pipes overhead, spraying them with scalding steam and water.
Volkov, wounded in the shoulder by a ricochet, stumbled backward toward the vault doors, his scarred face twisted in panic and rage. He raised the electronic detonator in his left hand, his thumb hovering over the red trigger switch. "If I don't get the files, nobody gets them!" he screamed over the gunfire.
"No!" Clara screamed.
Without thinking, driven by the terrifying realization that the proof of her children's identity was about to be incinerated, Clara grabbed a heavy, eighteen-inch steel pipe wrench lying on the boiler maintenance cart beside her. She didn't hide; she lunged out from behind the cover of the boiler, closing the ten-foot distance between her and the syndicate boss before Julian could pull her back.
Volkov turned his weapon toward her, but Clara swung the heavy steel wrench with every ounce of strength her calloused, double-shift-working hands possessed.
The iron head of the wrench connected squarely with Volkov’s right wrist with a sickening crack.
The syndicate boss screamed, his gun and the electronic detonator flying from his shattered fingers, skidding across the wet concrete floor into the dark corner of the hallway. Volkov lunged at Clara with his remaining good arm, his massive fingers reaching for her throat, but before he could touch her, three rapid, deafening shots echoed through the corridor.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Volkov froze. His eyes went wide, staring past Clara at the dark hallway behind her. A dark red stain bloomed across the center of his tailored charcoal overcoat. Slowly, like a felled tree, the syndicate boss collapsed forward onto the wet concrete, dead before his face hit the floor.
Clara stood breathing heavily, the wrench dropping from her numb fingers, clattering against the metal pipes.
Julian lowered his smoking sidearm, stepping over the bodies of the mercenaries as he walked directly to her. He didn't check the vault doors; he didn't check the remaining enemies. He grabbed Clara by her shoulders, pulling her against his chest so hard it knocked the wind out of her, burying his face in her hair.
"You are out of your absolute mind," Julian rasped against her ear, his body shaking with a rare, uncontrollable adrenaline tremor as he held her tight. "Never do that again. Do you hear me? Never step in front of a gun for a file again."
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"I had to," she whispered, her hands clinging to his tactical vest as tears finally spilled over her eyelashes. "Those files... they prove who our babies are, Julian. I couldn't let him burn them."
Julian pulled back just enough to look at her face, his amber eyes burning with an overwhelming, consuming pride. He reached out, his thumb smudging a streak of soot and blood from her cheekline. "You don't need a piece of paper to prove who they are, Clara. You just proved it to the whole damn world."
