Chapter 5 - A New Order
The subterranean tunnels were pitch black, save for the narrow beam of the tactical flashlight mounted on Dante’s pistol. The air down here was thick with the scent of damp earth, rust, and stagnant water. Every drop of leaking condensation echoed like a drumbeat against the concrete walls.
I stumbled over a rusted pipe, my knees buckling, but Dante caught me by the elbow before I hit the ground. He didn't let go until I stabilized.
"You knew," I whispered, the darkness giving me the false courage to confront him. "In the restaurant. When you asked where I learned Berlin slang... you didn't just suspect Frankfurt. You knew."
Dante kept his light sweeping ahead, checking the branching corridors for movement. "I didn't know your name was Blair. But I knew the Frankfurt syndicate was hunting down the surviving members of an internal financial audit team that tried to expose their weapons smuggling ring three years ago. Two members died in a warehouse fire. One vanished without a trace." He paused, shining the light back toward my face. "The third had a habit of biting her lower lip when she was cornered."
I instinctively pressed my teeth against my lip, realizing the damning truth. "I testified against them," I whispered, tears finally breaking free, hot and fast down my cheeks. "I gave the prosecutors the ledger numbers. They burned my life to the ground, and when I fled across the ocean, I thought I was safe. I thought hiding behind a wine glass in a crowded restaurant would keep the ghosts away."
"Ghosts don't stay buried in our line of work, Blair," Dante said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, lacking its usual lethal edge. "You ran because you wanted to survive. But tonight, you didn't run. You stood your ground and blew up their entire ambush."
"Because they were going to kill everyone in that room," I retorted defensively.
"Including me," Dante said with a faint, grim smirk. "Which makes us partners, whether you signed a contract or not."
Before I could answer, a muffled explosion shook the ground above us. Dust and tiny pebbles rained down from the concrete ceiling. They had blown the kitchen hatch.
"They're in the tunnels," Marcus’s voice crackled through the encrypted earpiece clipped to Dante’s collar. "Two hostiles, moving fast down the eastern branch. They have thermal imaging."
Dante clicked his jaw, his expression hardening into absolute resolve. He grabbed my shoulders, turning me to face a heavy iron service ladder bolted to the wall leading up to a street-level maintenance grate.
"Marcus is going to buy us thirty seconds," Dante said quickly, pulling a second spare magazine from his vest and pressing it into my trembling hands. "You're going to climb that ladder, push through the grate into the alley behind the theater district, and run straight for the black Bentley idling by the loading bay. My driver will take you to the safehouse."
May you like
"And you?" I asked, my voice cracking.
"I’m going to finish a conversation with my old friends from Germany," Dante said, racking his slide with a sharp, metallic snap. "Go, Blair. You've done enough saving for one night. Let me handle the execution."
