Chapter 20 - The armored convoy
Marcus rose slowly, stepping past the unconscious operatives on the floor. He moved to the front blinds and used two fingers to part the slats by a fraction of an inch.
The quiet residential street had been transformed. Three matte-black armored sport utility vehicles were parked bumper-to-bumper across the street, their high-beam halogens switched off, waiting in the gloom. Surrounding the vehicles were half a dozen men in dark suits, armed with military-pattern rifles held at low-ready positions.
From the rear passenger door of the center vehicle stepped a tall, imposing man in an immaculate charcoal-gray trench coat. His silver hair was slicked back, and in his right hand, he carried a polished wooden cane with a solid steel head. He walked with a slight limp, stopping directly beneath the streetlamp where Travis had stood less than an hour ago.
Marcus let the blind drop back into place. His face was entirely devoid of fear; instead, an icy, lethal focus settled over his features. "Viktor," he murmured.
Tessa knelt beside Travis, checking his pulse and pressing a clean towel against his bruised cheek. She looked up at her father, her voice tense. "You know him, Dad?"
"He was the quartermaster who sold out our third convoy in Kandahar," Marcus replied evenly. "He disappeared the night our records were purged from the defense mainframe. He’s the reason I left the service and bought the garage."
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"He's here for the chips," Tessa deduced, her sharp mind connecting the pieces instantly. "The stolen ones Henderson was hiding in the rail yard."
"No," Marcus said, turning toward the back of the gym where a concrete trapdoor was hidden beneath the sparring ring. "Henderson never had them. I intercepted that shipment fourteen years ago before Viktor could sell it to the cartel. I buried it four feet beneath the foundation of this very warehouse."
