Chapter 2 - Echoes in the Dark
By 0200 hours, the rain had tapered off into a thick, suffocating fog that blanketed the industrial docks.
I stood on the roof of a disused warehouse across from the Wolfe Salvage Yard, looking through the green-tinted lens of my night-vision monocular. The yard was a fortress—twelve-foot chain-link fences topped with razor wire, four motion-activated floodlights, and two guard dogs roaming the perimeter.
Inside the main office, two figures were visible through the glass: Dominic Wolfe and Hector, the third-oldest brother. They were drinking beer, watching sports on a wall-mounted TV, completely oblivious to the fact that their perimeter had already been mapped and compromised.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I answered using my earpiece.
"Talk to me, Doc," I whispered.
"She’s stable, Marcus," replied Dr. Sarah Lin, the only physician in the trauma ward I trusted—a former Navy surgeon who had served alongside my unit in Mosul. "Her intracranial pressure has stabilized. But Marcus... she woke up briefly twenty minutes ago."
My heart, which had remained ice-cold all night, hammered violently against my ribs. "Did she say anything?"
"She couldn't speak through the ventilator," Sarah said softly, her voice filled with deep empathy. "But she squeezed my hand. Three times. That was your signal, wasn't it?"
I love you. Three squeezes.
Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I forced them down, channeling the surge of emotion into cold, tactical resolve. "Keep two private security operators outside her room, Sarah. The Wolfe family might realize Mason broke before the night is over."
"They're already here, Marcus. High-threat contractors from your old team. Nobody gets down that hallway without a military badge. Now tell me... what are you doing?"
"Taking out the infrastructure," I replied softly, lowering the monocular. "I'll call you when the first domino falls."
I slipped off the roof, dropping silently onto the wet asphalt below like a phantom.
To an untrained civilian, a salvage yard was a labyrinth of crushed metal and hidden corners. To a Delta operator, it was a tactical kill-box filled with blind spots.
I reached the outer fence, pulled out a pair of heavy wire cutters, and made three swift, silent snips near the base. I squeezed through the gap, stepping into the shadow of a stacked pile of rusted sedans.
The two guard dogs—trained Dobermans—sniffed the air and rounded the corner of the garage, growling softly.
Instead of drawing a weapon, I pulled out two thick pieces of prime beef steak soaked in a mild, fast-acting sedative that Doc Lin had provided. I tossed them into the shadows. The dogs devoured the meat instantly. Within ninety seconds, both animals collapsed into a deep, harmless sleep behind a stack of tires.
Phase one complete.
I moved toward the main office, my boots making no sound against the wet gravel. I pulled my tactical combat knife from its sheath, keeping the blade low.
Inside the office, Dominic let out a loud, booming laugh, tossing an empty beer can at the trash can. "I'm telling you, Hector, that soldier boy won't do a damn thing! He’s probably crying into his wife’s sponge bath right now!"
"I don't know, Dom," Hector grunted, leaning back in his chair. "The look he gave Mason at the hospital... it wasn't normal. That guy looked like he'd killed people for a living."
"He was a glorified government grunt!" Dominic scoffed, standing up and stretching his massive frame. "I'm gonna go check the rear gate. Make sure the night guard didn't fall asleep."
Dominic opened the side door of the office and stepped out into the misty night, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.
He flicked his lighter. The tiny flame illuminated his face for a split second.
Before the light extinguished, I moved.
I closed the distance in two seconds, grabbing Dominic from behind. My left arm wrapped around his throat in a tight rear-naked chokehold, while my right hand jammed his forearm up his back, pinioned against his shoulder blades.
Dominic tried to scream, but the air was instantly trapped in his lungs. His massive arms thrashed wildly, striking my ribs, but my grip was an iron cage forged in years of close-quarters battle training.
"Shh," I whispered into his ear, my voice flat, emotionless. "Remember me, Dominic? The government dog?"
Dominic’s eyes bugged out in sheer terror as his vision began to dim. He thrashed harder, but the oxygen supply to his brain was cut off. Within eight seconds, his body went limp in my arms.
I lowered his unconscious body gently to the ground, bound his wrists and ankles with heavy-duty zip-ties, and stuffed a gag into his mouth.
May you like
Standing over the eldest brother, I picked up his fallen cigarette, dropped it into a puddle, and looked through the glass window at Hector, who was still casually watching TV.
"One down," I whispered into the dark. "Six to go."
