Chapter 4 - The Breach
The rain had turned into a thick, freezing sleet by 5:15 a.m.
Three black armored vans cut through the fog along the Chicago River, moving without headlights toward the massive silhouette of the abandoned grain silo.
Selene sat in the rear of the lead van, wearing a heavy tactical coat Damen had handed her, holding a large black medical kit packed with IV fluids, thermal blankets, and trauma dressings. Beside her, Damen sat quietly, checking the magazine of a silenced pistol before sliding it into his shoulder holster.
"If a single shot is fired while you are inside," Damen told her, leaning close so only she could hear over the hum of the engine, "you stay behind Viktor. You do not try to be a hero. You fix who you can fix, and you let my men do the rest."
Selene looked at the heavy black weapon under his coat. "Are you going to kill them?"
"I am going to eliminate a threat to my city," Damen replied smoothly. "The method depends entirely on how cooperative Preston Holloway's friends choose to be."
The van ground to a smooth halt behind a row of rusted freight cars.
Viktor checked his wrist monitor. "Security perimeter breached. Alpha team disabled the cameras. We have six minutes before their shift rotation."
"Move," Damen commanded.
The side doors slid open. Cold air slammed into Selene's lungs like a physical punch. She followed Viktor through the freezing sleet, keeping low behind the rusted iron frames of the train cars.
The side entrance of the grain silo was a heavy steel fire door. One of Damen's men attached a small, circular device to the lock. A quiet hiss of spark-less thermal charge cut through the steel in three seconds.
The door swung open.
Inside, the silo was vast, dark, and freezing. High above, narrow steel catwalks crisscrossed the hollow concrete tower. In the center of the concrete floor sat two massive red shipping containers, their heavy locking bars sealed with iron padlocks.
Standing near the containers were four men wearing heavy winter coats, carrying automatic rifles.
Among them was Preston Holloway.
He was holding a thermos of coffee, his face flush with alcohol and sweat despite the freezing cold.
"I'm telling you, Vance wants them moved by six!" Preston was shouting at one of the guards. "If Volkov's patrols catch us here—"
"Volkov doesn't know shit," the guard spat back.
Damen stepped out of the shadow of the steel doorframe into the dim amber light of the silo.
"Volkov knows everything, Preston," Damen said softly.
The four guards spun around, raising their weapons.
Before the first guard could clear his safety, three muffled thuds echoed through the massive chamber.
The three armed guards collapsed onto the concrete floor like felled trees. Damen hadn't even blinked.
Preston dropped his coffee thermos. It shattered on the floor, steaming brown liquid spreading over the cold dust. He backed up against the red steel of the shipping container, his hands raised, his knees knocking together violently.
"Mr. Volkov!" Preston screamed, his voice cracking with sheer terror. "Please! It wasn't my idea! Vance paid me! He said he'd clear my debt!"
Damen walked toward him slowly, his polished leather shoes making no sound against the concrete.
"Where are the keys, Preston?" Damen asked quietly.
"In my pocket! Right side!" Preston gasped, trembling so violently he could barely point to his jacket.
Viktor stepped forward, ripped the iron key ring from Preston's pocket, and shoved the heavy key into the padlock of the first container.
The lock clicked open. Viktor pulled the heavy iron doors apart.
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A wall of stale, frigid air rushed out of the container, carrying the sound of low, terrified weeping.
Selene didn't wait for Damen's order. She pushed past Viktor and stepped inside the dark steel box.
