Chapter 9 - CHAPTER 8: MIDNIGHT AT THE TOWER
At 11:45 p.m., heavy snow began falling over downtown Chicago.
A black delivery van pulled into the alley behind the Miller Commercial Building. Six men dressed in tactical gear, led by a tall, gray-haired man in a leather coat—Hector Lopez—stepped out and breached the rear service entrance using a silent thermal cutter.
They moved quickly up the emergency stairwell, reaching the fifteenth floor where Ryan’s executive suite was located.
"Find the server room," Hector ordered in a hushed Spanish accent. "Set the thermite charges on the main drive racks. We have eight minutes before the security patrol cycles back."
The mercenaries swept into the office, pulling keycards from their vests.
Suddenly, the lights across the entire fifteen-floor building went black.
Emergency red backup lights clicked on, casting long, crimson shadows down the hallways. The heavy steel fire doors at both ends of the floor slammed shut, locking with an electronic hiss.
"It's a trap!" one of the mercenaries yelled, drawing his suppressed pistol.
From the darkness of the executive hallway, a single, deep voice echoed:
"Hector Lopez."
Hector spun around, raising his weapon. "Who's there?!"
Gabriel Vance stepped out of the shadows, wearing his tactical vest, holding a high-powered stun launcher. He didn't fire a single bullet.
With terrifying speed and military precision, Gabriel moved through the dark hallway. Before the mercenaries could acquire their targets, Ethan's automated defense system released localized flash-bang canisters through the ceiling vents.
Blinding white light and deafening cracks filled the hallway.
In under ninety seconds, all five mercenaries were disarmed, zip-tied, and pinned to the floor.
Hector Lopez stumbled backward into Ryan’s private office, clutching his blinded eyes, his pistol slipping from his fingers.
Gabriel stepped into the office, picked up the suppressed pistol from the floor, ejected the magazine, and tossed the empty weapon onto Ryan’s mahogany desk.
"Five years ago, Hector," Gabriel said, leaning over the desk, his face illuminated by the red emergency lights. "Your syndicate paid two million dollars to ambush my squad in South America."
Hector gasped, staring at the scar on Gabriel’s face. "Vance... you're... you're the ghost from Colombia..."
"I'm not a ghost, Hector," Gabriel whispered, as heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. "I'm the man who just handed your entire financial network over to the FBI."
The office doors were kicked open. A dozen heavily armed SWAT officers and Federal Agents flooded the room, their red laser sights pinning Hector to the wall.
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"Hector Lopez, you are under arrest!" the lead agent shouted.
Gabriel turned around, casually tossing his tactical gloves onto the desk, walking past the armed agents and out into the cool night air of Chicago.
