Chapter 13 - The Ambush at St. Jude’s
The smell of cordite and dry chemical fire extinguisher powder seeped under the heavy wooden door of Room 704.
Shouts of panic and the stampede of fleeing nursing staff echoed down the seventh-floor corridor.
Cole was on his feet in less than a second, drawing his custom semi-automatic and kicking Arthur’s bed down to its lowest setting.
"Hannah, get Arthur on the floor behind the concrete support column!" Cole barked, his eyes blazing with tactical focus.
Hannah did not hesitate.
She unhooked the portable oxygen tank, wrapped her arms around Arthur’s frail torso, and pulled him gently off the mattress.
She slid him behind the heavy structural pillar in the corner of the room, shielding him with her own body.
"Marcus!" Cole yelled into his throat mic.
"Status report!"
A burst of static and heavy gunfire crackled through the earbud.
"Four shooters in tactical gear coming up the west stairwell, boss!" Marcus's voice crackled through the comms.
"They're wearing private contractor uniforms!"
"They took down the exterior security detail at the loading bay!"
"They're after the commissioner!"
"Hold the elevator lobby!" Cole commanded.
"I have the room!"
The heavy drywall adjacent to the doorway suddenly exploded in a spray of white plaster dust and splintered wood.
A burst of 9mm rounds ripped through the partition, chewing up the empty hospital bed where Arthur had been lying seconds before.
Glass from the monitoring equipment rained down onto the tile floor.
Hannah pulled Arthur closer, covering the old man's head with her wool jacket.
Her hand slipped into her jacket pocket, her fingers wrapping around the lightweight pistol Cole had given her the night before.
Her heart was hammering in her ears, but her mind was icy and calm.
She had faced eviction, starvation, and debt.
She had faced the cold eyes of syndicate bosses in the boardroom.
She was not going to let hitmen butcher an old man in a hospital room.
A flashbang grenade bounced through the shattered doorway, skittering across the floor toward the bed.
"Down!" Cole roared, diving forward and kicking the canister back into the hallway before it detonated.
BANG!
The blinding white flash and concussive roar shook the walls, blowing the door completely off its hinges.
Through the billowing gray smoke, a mercenary in black body armor stepped into the room, raising a suppressed carbine.
Cole didn't wait.
He lunged from behind the bathroom doorframe, grabbing the barrel of the mercenary’s rifle and forcing it toward the ceiling.
Two rounds discharged harmlessly into the acoustic tiles above.
Cole drove his right elbow into the shooter’s throat, followed by a brutal knee strike to the man’s solar plexus.
The mercenary staggered, gasping for air, but reached for a combat knife strapped to his thigh.
Cole caught the man's wrist, twisted the joint with a sickening crack, and drove the butt of his own pistol into the attacker’s temple.
The man dropped like a stone, hitting the floor unconscious.
A second mercenary appeared in the doorway, leveling his weapon directly at Cole’s exposed back.
"Cole!" Hannah screamed.
Hannah stepped out from behind the concrete pillar, raised her 9mm with both hands, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked through the small room, the recoil kicking firmly against her palms.
The round struck the second shooter squarely in the center of his chest plate.
The impact knocked him backward into the corridor, spoiling his aim.
Cole spun around instantly and fired two rapid follow-up shots through the doorway, neutralizing the threat completely.
Silence descended over the hallway, broken only by the crackle of distant alarms and the hiss of severed oxygen lines.
Marcus rounded the corner, his rifle lowered, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.
"West wing is clear, Mr. Cole," Marcus reported, breathing heavily.
"Local police are three minutes out."
"The remaining two contractors fled down the emergency fire escape."
Cole lowered his weapon and turned toward Hannah.
She was still standing in a combat stance, the smoking pistol held level in her hands, her breathing deep and controlled.
A small, proud smile crossed Cole’s blood-spattered face.
"Nice shot, sister," Cole said quietly.
Hannah lowered the gun, her hands trembling slightly as the adrenaline peaked, but she kept her feet planted.
"He was aiming at you," Hannah answered simply.
Arthur coughed weakly from behind the pillar, looking up at Hannah with awe in his faded eyes.
"She really is Anthony's blood," the old man whispered, a raspy chuckle escaping his lips.
"Anthony never missed a target either."
Cole walked over, holstered his weapon, and helped Hannah lift Arthur back into the spare emergency recliner.
"We need to move him to the private airstrip," Cole said.
"Marcus, arrange a transport chopper to Blackwood Ridge."
"The estate is an armed fortress; this hospital is no longer secure."
"Understood," Marcus replied, pulling out his radio.
Hannah reached into her pocket and pulled out the brass key to Vault 412.
She held it out to Cole.
"We get the ledger and the tapes right now," Hannah said.
"Before Victor’s people can reach First Municipal Bank."
Cole looked at the key, then at Hannah, his expression hardening into iron.
"Not us," Cole said.
"You go with Marcus and Helen Brooks to retrieve the evidence."
"I have unfinished business in the basement of Blackwood Ridge."
Hannah stared into Cole’s dark eyes, seeing the grim resolution there.
"Don't do anything that dishonors Thomas Reed, Cole," Hannah urged softly, gripping his arm.
"Our father died so you wouldn't become a killer."
Cole looked at her for a long moment, the hardness in his face softening just a fraction.
"I won't kill him, Hannah," Cole promised, his voice dropping into a solemn whisper.
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"I’m going to do something worse."
"I’m going to make him watch as we tear his empire down to the foundation."
