Chapter 6 - Blood on the St. Jude Trauma Bay
"I didn't know they were going to kill her tonight! I swear to God, Daniel, I didn't know!" Owen gasped, kicking his legs weakly as Daniel’s grip tightened. "They told me they just wanted the drive! Grant said the girl wouldn't be harmed!"
"Who is inside this hospital?!" Daniel bellowed, his fingers digging into Owen’s carotid artery.
"The... the night administrator!" Owen choked out, tears of terror streaming down his face. "Miller! He’s on Ares’ payroll! He authorized an external team from 'bio-hazard disposal'... they’re coming up the service elevators right now! They have potassium chloride! It mimics cardiac failure—it leaves no trace in an autopsy!"
Daniel dropped Owen to the floor like a sack of wet laundry. The doctor collapsed, coughing violently, clutching his bruised throat.
Daniel didn't hesitate. The polished, aristocratic CEO was gone, stripped away by the absolute imperative of survival. In his place stood the man who had commanded maritime black-ops units in the Persian Gulf a decade ago.
He moved to the trauma bay doors. The pediatric team was securing Lily’s ventilator lines.
"Everyone out," Daniel said, his voice ringing with absolute, terrifying authority.
The head surgeon spun around, outraged. "Sir, you cannot be in here! This child is on life support—"
Daniel reached inside his damp jacket, pulled Owen’s tactical pocket-knife from the physician’s dropped medical kit, and sliced through the alarm wire on the wall, triggering the local bay lockdown. The heavy magnetic doors clicked shut.
"There is an armed team entering this ward right now disguised as hospital contractors," Daniel said, looking directly into the surgeon's eyes. "They are coming to inject potassium chloride into that IV line to execute this little girl. If you want to live, you will unhook that ventilator, transfer her to a portable oxygen rig, and prepare to move through the rear service tunnel."
The surgeon stared at him, seeing the lethal conviction in Daniel’s eyes. She didn't argue. "Nurse, prep the transport isolette! Grab the manual resuscitator and two tanks of O-negative!"
Suddenly, the red lights above the corridor outside flashed. The elevator doors at the end of the hall slid open with a soft chime.
Three men stepped out. They were wearing dark blue hospital scrubs, but they didn't carry stethoscopes. Their jackets were unzipped, revealing tactical holsters, and their faces were obscured by surgical masks and baseball caps pulled low. The leader had a teardrop tattoo near his left eye and carried a black medical case.
"Stay behind the glass," Daniel ordered the medical team.
He didn't hide. He stepped out of the trauma bay, letting the heavy door seal behind him.
The three men stopped twenty feet away. The leader narrowed his eyes, recognizing Daniel instantly.
"Mr. Mercer," the man said, reaching smoothly beneath his scrub top toward the butt of a suppressed Glock. "You're making this much harder than it needs to be."
"You're not leaving this hallway alive," Daniel said.
The lead hitman drew his weapon. Daniel surged forward.
Daniel didn't run like a civilian; he closed the distance with terrifying, explosive speed, utilizing the polished floor to slide beneath the raised barrel. Before the hitman could depress the trigger, Daniel’s heavy steel-toed deck boot crushed the man’s knee inward with a sickening *crack*.
The man shrieked, collapsing forward, his shot discharging harmlessly into the ceiling tile.
Daniel caught the man’s gun wrist, twisted it until the radial bone snapped, and stripped the suppressed Glock into his own hand. In one continuous motion, Daniel pivoted, driving his elbow into the temple of the second operative who was lunging forward with a collapsible baton. The blow dropped the second man instantly, his skull hitting the linoleum with a hollow thud.
The third hitman reached for his sidearm, but Daniel already had the Glock leveled.
*Pfft. Pfft.*
Two suppressed rounds punched through the third man’s chest. The man slammed against the wall, leaving two smears of dark crimson as he slid into a sitting position, dead before he touched the ground.
Daniel turned to the first man, who was writhing on the floor, clutching his shattered knee. Daniel planted his boot firmly on the man's throat, applying just enough pressure to stifle his screams.
"Who sent you?" Daniel asked softly.
"Screw... you..." the man spat, blood bubbling between his teeth.
Daniel leaned down, pressing the hot barrel of the suppressor against the man's shattered knee joint. "I don't have time to negotiate with a mercenary. Tell me what Grant Cole’s extraction point is, or I will turn your leg into bone meal."
"Wait! Wait!" the man cried out, his composure shattering. "The warehouse! Pier 42 in South Boston! Grant is meeting Vanessa's contact there at two in the morning to hand over the drive! That's all I know! I swear to God!"
Daniel didn't hesitate. He struck the man across the jaw with the pistol grip, knocking him unconscious.
He picked up the black medical case the hitman had dropped. Inside were three pre-filled syringes labeled *Potassium Chloride - 20mEq*.
Physical evidence.
Daniel turned back to the trauma bay glass. The surgeon was staring at him in paralyzed shock, Lily held securely in a mobile transport incubator.
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"Move her out through the basement," Daniel ordered through the intercom. "There’s an armored transport arriving at the loading dock in five minutes. If you save my daughter's life, I will give your hospital ten million dollars. If she dies, there is nowhere on this earth you will be able to hide from me."
***
