Chapter 7 - The Breaking Point
The storm outside the grain elevator had reached a crescendo. Lightning flashed through the cracked windowpanes, illuminating the cavernous concrete room in stark, ghostly white.
The heavy steel doors of the loading bay creaked open.
Dawson Moretti walked into the room. He didn't have a weapon in his hands. He wore only his gray wool sweater and dark jeans, looking exactly as he had on the night Sienna had saved him. But there was nothing peaceful about him now. He looked like an ancient, vengeful deity of the underworld, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light.
"Dawson," Victor smiled, stepping behind Sienna’s chair and resting his hand on her shoulder. "I see you’re on time. Do you have the drive?"
Dawson reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver flash drive. "It's all here. Every routing code, every decryption key. Let her go, Victor. This is between you and me."
"Toss it over," Victor commanded.
Dawson tossed the drive. It skittered across the dusty concrete floor, stopping inches from Victor's feet. Victor nodded to one of his guards, who knelt down, picked up the drive, and plugged it into a rugged military laptop sitting on a crate.
"It’s authentic," the guard confirmed after a few seconds of typing. "The accounts are unlocking."
"Excellent," Victor purred. He drew a suppressed pistol from his jacket and aimed it directly at Sienna’s head. "Now, there's just the matter of ensuring that no one ever speaks of the Baltic Line again."
"No!" Dawson roared, taking a step forward.
"Stay back!" Victor yelled, tightening his grip on the gun. "One more step and her brains are on the floor!"
In that split second of high tension, Sienna acted.
With her right hand free, she reached up, grabbed Victor's wrist, and twisted it with all the strength she possessed. The gun discharged, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the concrete ceiling.
"Dawson!" she screamed.
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The distraction was all Dawson needed. He charged across the room like a freight train. The nearest guard tried to raise his rifle, but Dawson tackled him with such force that both men crashed through a wooden partition, tumbling into the dark, dusty depths of the adjacent machinery room.
The remaining two guards panicked, firing wildly into the shadows.
