Chapter 7 - Fire at the Rail Yard
Midnight arrived with a thick, suffocating fog rolling off the river, burying the abandoned rail yard in a sea of gray shadows.
Rusting train cars sat like sleeping iron monsters along the overgrown tracks. At the center of the yard stood a small two-story brick building—the old dispatcher’s office that had been outfitted to look like a private medical clinic. Two ambulances sat parked out front, their side doors open, white sheets visible inside.
Inside the dark second-floor office, Julian stood by the window, wearing a heavy tactical vest over his black shirt. He held a high-powered night-vision scope, staring into the fog.
Beside him, Sal checked the magazine of his automatic shotgun. “They’re late,” Sal grunted.
“They’re not late,” Julian murmured. “Frank Moretti is cautious. He’s sending his vanguard first.”
Down the access road, four dark SUVs glided through the fog with their headlights turned off. They stopped fifty yards from the clinic entrance. The doors slid open, and a dozen men wearing heavy armor and carrying suppressed rifles spilled out into the shadows, moving in a tactical wedge formation toward the building.
Standing near the lead vehicle was Frank Moretti—a tall, gaunt man with slicked-back gray hair and a cold, reptilian sneer.
Inside his earpiece, Julian heard Marcus’s voice from the control room at the mansion. “Bait taken, boss. All twelve targets are inside the kill zone. Perimeter sensors activated.”
“Hold your fire until they reach the lobby,” Julian ordered into his mic.
The vanguard team kicked open the reinforced glass doors of the clinic, rushing inside with their weapons raised. “CLEAR! GO, GO, GO!”
The moment the last man stepped over the threshold, Julian hit a small red button on his wrist remote.
CLANG!
Heavy steel security shutters slammed down over every window and door of the building, trapping the strike team inside. Simultaneously, floodlights mounted on the surrounding train cars burst to life, blinding the men outside with ten thousand watts of white light.
Frank Moretti shielded his eyes, cursing violently as he reached for his door handle. “IT’S A TRAP! FALL BACK!”
From inside the rusted train cars surrounding the SUVs, thirty Mercer men stepped into the light, their weapons trained directly on the vehicles.
Sal stood on the roof of the clinic, aiming a spotlight directly at Frank Moretti’s face. “DROP YOUR WEAPONS! YOU ARE SURROUNDED!”
Frank Moretti pulled a heavy revolver from his coat, firing three wild shots toward the roof. “I’LL KILL YOU ALL! CHICAGO OWNS THIS TOWN!”
A single, precise shot rang out from the second-floor window.
The bullet struck the asphalt six inches from Frank’s shoes, sending a shower of stone sparks over his leather boots.
Julian stepped out onto the iron fire escape, lowering his rifle. He looked down at Frank Moretti with the absolute authority of a king standing on his castle walls.
“Drop the gun, Frank,” Julian’s voice echoed through the loudspeakers mounted on the light poles. “Your strike team inside is already disarmed. Your drivers are surrounded. It’s over.”
Frank Moretti panted heavily, his eyes darting wildly around the circle of armed men, bright lights, and iron train cars. He realized with terrifying clarity that he hadn't walked into a shootout; he had walked into an execution ground where the executioner was offering him a single chance to surrender.
Slowly, painfully, Frank dropped his revolver onto the wet ground. He lifted his hands into the air.
“You won't get away with this, Mercer,” Frank spat, his voice trembling with fury. “My brother will send fifty more men!”
Julian walked down the iron stairs, stopping five feet from the Chicago boss. He looked down at the man who had tried to murder Claire and Emma.
“Your brother won't send anyone, Frank,” Julian said smoothly, pulling a tablet from his coat and showing him the screen. “Because while you were driving out here, my crew in Chicago delivered your private books to the Federal Organized Crime Task Force. Your brother is being processed at the Cook County jail right now.”
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Frank’s jaw dropped. His eyes filled with total, overwhelming defeat. “You… you hit us in Chicago?”
“I don't play defense, Frank,” Julian said softly. He flicked his wrist, gesturing to his men. “Take them away. Hand them over to the state police at the border.”
