Chapter 4 - The Turn of the Tide
The attackers surged around the concrete bend, firing wildly into the gloom. Bullets chewed up the water inches from Viktor's boots. He squeezed off two controlled shots, dropping the lead enforcer, but his magazine clicked empty on the third round.
Click.
Empty.
Before the remaining three assassins could raise their rifles for the fatal shot, a deafening mechanical roar echoed from above the vaulted ceiling—not from the drain, but from the street level overhead.
A heavy metal manhole cover somewhere down the eastern branch blew sky-high with a thunderous crash, followed by the blinding sweep of high-intensity vehicular searchlights slicing down through an emergency access chute.
—Federal Task Force! Drop your weapons! Hands on your heads!— roared a voice through a powerful bullhorn from the surface.
The Petrovitch enforcers froze, paralyzed by the sudden arrival of law enforcement in the middle of a private syndicate war. They hadn't counted on the federal authorities stumbling onto the frequency.
—Drop them or we open fire!— shouted a second voice down the chute.
Realizing they were caught between Viktor Draven’s lethal vengeance and a federal swat team, the remaining assassins dropped their weapons into the filthy water and threw their hands in the air, cursing furiously.
Viktor stood up slowly, wiping mud and water from his dark coat. He didn't lower his guard, keeping a wary eye on the pinned gunmen as heavy tactical boots began clattering down the iron ladder behind them.
Shadow let out a triumphant bark, shook the filthy water from his thick coat in a violent spray that hit Viktor’s trousers, and trotted back toward the exit shaft as if he had just completed a routine morning walk.
Marcus reappeared from the ladder tunnel, panting heavily. —Boss! Leo is topside! The medics have him in the armored car! He's conscious, he's asking for you! And... Boss, you won't believe what's happening up there.—
—What?— Viktor asked sharply, stepping over the discarded weapons of the captured hitmen.
—The federal task force didn't just stumble on us,— Marcus said, his eyes wide with disbelief. —Mia called them. She used the emergency radio in our dashboard while we were descending. She told federal dispatch the exact coordinates of the Petrovitch safehouse network tied to the kidnapping.—
Viktor stopped in his tracks, staring blankly at his second-in-command for a long moment. Then, a slow, bewildered, almost disbelieving smile touched the corners of his hard mouth.
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A seven-year-old girl in a soaked pink hoodie had just outmaneuvered the most powerful criminal syndicates in London and coordinated a federal tactical raid using a discarded police radio.
—Let's go home,— Viktor said softly.
