Chapter 16 - The Face of the Hunter
Anton Vasiliev dropped his cane into the gravel. His good hand slipped into his trench coat, but before he could clear leather, Claire closed the distance. Her palm struck his wrist with bone-jarring force, disarming him instantly. She grabbed his collar, spinning him around and slamming him face-first against the reinforced hood of the transport truck.
The metal groaned under the impact. Vasiliev gasped, the breath driven from his lungs, his face pressed against the cold, wet steel.
Around them, the gunfire abruptly ceased.
From the tree lines, four figures clad in unmarked maritime tactical gear stepped into the quarry lights, their weapons raised in low-ready stances. Commander Taylor walked forward, his rifle resting comfortably against his chest, stepping over the disabled mercenaries who lay disarmed in the mud.
"Quarry is secure, General," Taylor said casually, checking his watch. "Local authorities won't have jurisdiction here for another twenty minutes. D.I.A. blackout protocol is already active on the state police scanners."
Claire didn't look at Taylor. Her eyes remained locked on the scarred profile of the man pinned beneath her hands.
"You should have stayed in the grave, Anton," Claire said, her voice cold and hollow as an open tomb.
Vasiliev coughed, spitting blood onto the hood. Yet despite the defeat, a low, rasping laugh bubbled in his chest. "You think... you think you won, Claire?"
"Your network is dismantled. Your mole in the National Guard is bound in zip-ties on that gantry. Your Munich drive is corrupted," Claire stated with total finality.
"You don't understand... you never understood how our world changed while you were sitting in your garden playing retired hero," Vasiliev wheezed, his scarred lips twisting into a grotesque grin. "The Munich drive wasn't the mission. The drive was a distraction to pull you out of Washington."
Claire’s grip on his neck tightened until his carotid pulse hammered beneath her fingers. "Speak."
"While you were tracking my cell in Loudoun County... where did you put your family, Claire?" Vasiliev’s eyes gleamed with manic triumph. "The old bunker? The concrete tomb your daddy built on the mountain?"
A chill far colder than the Virginia rain shot down Claire's spine.
"Thorne didn't just give me the Munich access," Vasiliev whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "He gave me your father’s old land deeds. The blue prints. The air-shaft coordinates. I didn't send a strike team to fight you in the dark. I sent a thermal drone strike team to the mountain. Forty minutes ago."
Claire’s radio crackled. It wasn't Taylor. It was Director Vance, his voice breaking through static with frantic urgency:
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*“General Hale! Mayday! Multiple unmanned aerial incursions detected over sector four! Mount Weather perimeter has been penetrated! We have explosions reported near the old logging road! I repeat, the Hale compound has been hit!”*
Claire stared at Vasiliev, the blood draining from her face.
