Chapter 48 - The Phantom in the Murk
In the absolute darkness of the subterranean aqueduct, the two tactical mercenaries moved forward with measured, mechanical precision. Their quad-tube night-vision optics bathed the tunnel in a ghostly, phosphorescent green, revealing every brick, every clinging drop of condensation, and every swirling eddy in the black water.
"Contact team, this is Sweeper One," the lead contractor murmured into his throat microphone, his voice barely a hum over the rush of the current. "Vault breach cleared. Following subterranean sluice toward rail sector. Water depth one point two meters. No visual on the package yet."
The two men stepped in tandem, their sound-suppressed short-barreled carbines held at the low ready, boots cutting through the current with minimal splash. They were former European special forces, hired for their lethality and absolute discretion. They were trained to hunt in the dark.
They did not expect the water itself to attack.
Directly between the two men, the surface of the freezing black river parted without a sound.
Gabriel emerged behind the trailing operator like a phantom rising from an aqueous grave. Before the man’s peripheral vision could register the shift in light, Gabriel’s left hand shot out, clamping down across the operator’s mouth and nose while his right arm hooked under the man’s chin in a vicious, high-angle sleeper choke.
With ruthless leverage, Gabriel dragged the two-hundred-pound contractor straight down beneath the surface.
The struggle was violent, silent, and brief. The operator thrashed against Gabriel’s iron grip, his combat gear dragging him down into the murk, his boots churning the riverbed. Gabriel held him submerged with immovable force, his knee planted in the small of the man's back until the thrashing ceased and the body went limp in the freezing current.
Gabriel stripped the operator’s night-vision headset and suppressed carbine before the dead man could sink to the bottom.
Ahead, the lead mercenary paused, sensing the sudden absence of his partner’s rhythmic footfalls. He turned, the green glow of his optics scanning the empty black water behind him.
"Sweeper Two? Status."
Nothing. Only the steady, monotonous drip of water from the ceiling arches.
The mercenary raised his carbine, his finger tightening against the trigger slack. He stepped backward, sweeping the water's surface.
"Sweeper Two, acknowledge!"
From the shadows behind a stone pillar, Gabriel stepped out of the water, the stolen night-vision goggles strapped to his brow, glowing like the eyes of an ancient, vengeful predator.
"He's not answering," Gabriel said.
The contractor spun, raising his weapon, but Gabriel had already closed the three-meter gap. Gabriel slammed the barrel of his captured carbine against the operator’s weapon, deflecting the burst of suppressed fire into the brick ceiling. In the same motion, Gabriel stepped inside the man's guard, driving the heel of his combat boot into the mercenary’s knee joint.
*CRACK!*
The man’s knee bent backward at a grotesque angle. As the mercenary opened his mouth to scream, Gabriel grabbed the back of the man's ballistic helmet and slammed his face with bone-shattering force into the granite masonry of the aqueduct wall.
The contractor collapsed into the water, unconscious and broken.
Gabriel stood over the fallen men, his breathing deep, steady, and controlled. He lowered the goggles, wiped the freezing water from his face, and whistled a single, low birdcall toward the shadows.
Sarah emerged from behind the brick buttress, carrying Nora securely against her chest. When she saw the two elite operatives floating facedown in the black water, she looked at Gabriel with a mixture of profound awe and cold terror. He wasn't just a former bodyguard or a disgraced operative. He was an apex force of nature.
"The gate is fifty yards ahead," Gabriel said, taking the point once more. "We take their transport and get out of this city."
Ten minutes later, Gabriel shattered the rusted padlock of the secondary sluice grate with a single high-caliber round. The iron bars swung open, revealing the cold, clean night air of the Geneva industrial freight yard.
May you like
They hauled themselves out of the black canal, dripping wet and shivering in the freezing wind, stepping directly into the shadow of a long line of idling freight trains bound for the French border.
***
