Part 20
I coughed violently,
the acrid smoke burning my throat and stinging my eyes,
as I threw my arm up to shield my face.
My training kicked in automatically,
forcing me to drop low to the floor,
where the air was clearer,
and roll away from my last known position.
A sharp crack echoed through the warehouse,
a bullet whistling through the space where my head had been,
shattering a glass bulb behind me.
"Feds,
move in!"
I shouted into my earpiece,
but all I received in return was loud,
continuous static.
The canister hadn't just been smoke,
it had contained a localized frequency jammer,
cutting off my communication with Marcus and his tactical team outside.
I was alone in the dark,
with a trained assassin who knew exactly how to navigate the fog.
I listened intently,
ignoring the burning in my lungs,
focusing entirely on the sound of the environment.
A soft scrape of leather against concrete,
about twenty feet to my right,
moving toward the rear exit of the warehouse.
I scrambled forward on my hands and knees,
keeping my body beneath the level of the rising smoke,
using the rows of wooden pallets for cover.
The courier was fast,
but he was carrying the heavy metallic briefcase,
which slowed his movements slightly as he navigated the darkness.
I saw his silhouette near the fire door,
the green exit sign casting a faint glow over his dark coat.
I stood up,
launching myself forward with a burst of speed,
and tackled him before he could push the bar to open the door.
We crashed into the metal door with a deafening boom,
tumbling out into the cold night air of the rear alleyway.
The rain had started again,
the slick asphalt catching the reflection of the distant city lights,
as we fought for dominance in the mud.
He was younger,
stronger,
and trained in military hand-to-hand combat,
his strikes coming fast and precise.
He delivered a sharp elbow to my jaw,
sending a flash of white-hot pain through my skull,
and forcing me to lose my grip on his waist.
He scrambled back to his feet,
drawing a long,
serrated knife from his belt,
the blade gleaming wickedly in the dark.
"Thorne sends his regards,
old man,"
he hissed,
stepping forward to deliver a lethal thrust toward my throat.
I didn't try to block the knife directly,
instead,
I grabbed the heavy metallic briefcase lying on the ground,
and swung it like a shield to intercept the blade.
The steel knife struck the aluminum case with a sharp clang,
the force of the blow vibrating through my arms,
but the barrier held.
I twisted the briefcase,
catching his wrist within the handle loop,
and wrenched it violently to the side.
A loud pop echoed in the alley,
followed by a sharp scream of agony from the courier,
as his wrist snapped under the sudden leverage.
The knife dropped from his hand,
splashing into a puddle of water,
as he fell back against the brick wall,
clutching his broken arm.
I stood over him,
breathing heavily,
the briefcase still clutched in my left hand,
the jammer’s effects fading as we moved away from the building.
My radio crackled back to life,
Marcus's voice screaming through the speaker,
"Daniel!
What's your status?
We lost your signal!"
"I have the courier,"
I gasped,
pinning the man against the wall with my forearm,
May you like
"And I have the briefcase.
Get down here now."
