Chapter 11 - The Labyrinth of Steel
The stairwell was cold, humming with the low vibration of the building's central ventilation system. Julian stood on the landing of the third floor, listening intently to the rhythmic crunch of combat boots ascending from below.
Four mercenaries moved in a tight tactical diamond formation, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting sharp beams through the dusty air. They were professionals, moving without a word, communicating entirely through hand signals.
Julian waited until the lead mercenary reached the midpoint of the staircase between Floor 2 and Floor 3. Reaching up to the exposed electrical junction box mounted on the concrete wall, Julian used the edge of his steel stun baton to puncture the main transformer line he had pre-loosened minutes earlier.
A shower of blinding blue sparks exploded from the junction box, accompanied by a deafening high-voltage pop.
The mercenaries instinctively ducked, swinging their rifles toward the flash. In that split second of distraction, Julian leaned over the stairwell railing and dropped a heavy industrial fire extinguisher directly onto the lead operator's helmet.
The heavy cylinder struck with a dull CRACK, sending the lead mercenary tumbling backward down the stairs, taking the second operator down with him in a tangle of limbs and weapons.
"Target spotted on Floor 3!" the third mercenary yelled, opening fire upward. Suppressed gunshots—THWIP-THWIP-THWIP—riddled the concrete ceiling above Julian’s head, showering him with dust and debris.
Julian didn't hesitate. He pulled open the heavy steel fire door of Floor 3 and ducked into the dark corridor.
"Arthur! Lock down Section 3B now!" Julian spoke into his ear-piece communicator.
Inside the server room on Floor 2, Arthur hit a sequence of keys on the override console. Instantly, heavy blast doors slammed down at both ends of the Floor 3 corridor with a thunderous BANG, trapping the remaining two active mercenaries in a narrow, windowless hallway forty feet long.
The mercenaries spun around, realization flashing in their eyes as they found themselves enclosed in a steel trap.
Before they could set breaching charges on the blast door, Julian released the emergency halon fire-suppression gas from the ceiling vents. White, dense gas flooded the narrow corridor within seconds, completely obscuring vision and rapidly displacing the oxygen in the hall.
The mercenaries coughed violently, their tactical gas masks scrambling to filter the dense chemical fog. Through the swirling white cloud, Julian moved like a shadow. Using his intimate knowledge of the wall recesses, he stepped up behind the third operator, driving the high-voltage stun baton directly into the side of the man’s neck.
The mercenary convulsed as fifty thousand volts of electricity surged through his tactical vest, collapsing limply to the floor.
The fourth mercenary—the team leader—spun around, raising his sidearm through the smoke. "Show yourself, boy!"
Julian didn't answer. He stepped out from the fog directly to the leader's blind side, grabbing the barrel of the mercenary’s rifle and forcing it upward just as a shot fired into the acoustic ceiling tiles. Julian drove his elbow hard into the leader's jaw, followed by a sweeping kick that brought the heavy man down onto his knees.
Julian pressed the tip of the stun baton against the leader's chest plate. "Who authorized the Zurich strike order? Give me a name."
The leader spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at Julian with bitter defiance. "It doesn't matter... kid. The strike team in the stairwell was just... the distraction."
Julian’s blood ran cold. "What did you say?"
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"The real retrieval team... didn't come from below," the mercenary wheezed through a cruel smile. "They came from above. The roof."
Julian’s heart dropped. He turned toward the emergency comms unit on his vest. "Sterling! Arthur! They're on the roof! They're cutting straight down into the ICU!"
