Chapter 7 - Ambush at the River Docks
The logging tunnel was damp, pitch-black, and smelled of decaying slate and stagnant water. Every step was agony; my post-labor stitches felt as though they were tearing apart with every hurried stride, but the adrenaline rushing through my veins numbed the pain.
Behind us, the muffled thunder of explosions and high-caliber rifle fire echoed through the mountain tunnel, vibrating the rock walls around us. Colton was holding the line alone against a private army.
"Keep moving," Jade gasped, leaning heavily on my shoulder, her breath coming in ragged wheezes. "If he went down, they’ll send sweepers into the cellar within minutes."
"He won't go down," I said through gritted teeth, adjusting my grip on Ren's blanket. I had to believe it. If I accepted the possibility that Colton was dead, my legs would give out right there in the dark.
Ten minutes of agonizing progress brought us to the mouth of the tunnel. The opening was choked with blackberry brambles and wild ivy, looking out over the rushing gray waters of the Chattahoochee headwaters. The rain had intensified, drumming violently against the tin roof of the dilapidated boathouse fifty yards down the bank.
We scrambled across the slick river stones, ducking low behind the weathered pilings. Inside the boathouse, the air was freezing and smelled of outboard oil and wet cedar.
I found the heavy metal military shortwave radio mounted to the wall beside an old tackle bench. My trembling hands flipped the master power toggle. The vacuum tubes glowed a dim orange. I dialed the knob to frequency 142.8, exactly as Colton had commanded.
"Mayday, mayday," I spoke into the heavy mic, my voice shaking. "This is Lauren Beckett. I am with Agent Jade Foresight at the Blackwood River docks. We need immediate tactical extraction! Repeat, we are under active hostile assault!"
Static hissed through the speaker for three agonizing seconds before a sharp, professional voice broke through: "Copy, Mrs. Beckett. This is FBI Special Operations Command. We have your signal locked via satellite telemetry. Black Hawk airborne unit is four minutes out. Hold your position."
"Four minutes," I whispered, turning toward Jade, who had collapsed against a stack of life vests.
Suddenly, the wooden double doors of the boathouse splintered inward.
A tall figure stepped through the wreckage, rain dripping from his black leather coat. In his right hand, he held a suppressed tactical pistol.
It was Tom.
His face was cold, calculating, and devoid of any brotherly affection. Behind him stood two heavily armed cartel mercenaries, their assault rifles leveled at the room.
"Well, little sister," Tom said, stepping across the floorboards with slow, deliberate arrogance. "You made this much harder than it needed to be."
May you like
"Tom," I whispered, backing toward the edge of the wooden slip where the dark river churned below. Ren let out a tiny whimper against my chest. "Where is your brother?"
"Colton is buried under two tons of burning cabin timber," Tom said with a cruel, dismissive smirk. "He was always too soft. He thought he could have the underworld's billions and play suburban daddy at the same time. The cartel doesn't allow retirement, Lauren. Now hand over the baby and the agent, and maybe I let you live long enough to attend his funeral."
