Chương 7
The outer loading door rattled. Ortiz entered with two tactical officers, weapon raised.
She saw Warren on the floor and looked at Sebastian’s pistol.
“Put it down.”
“My daughter is inside.”
“Put it down now.”
Sebastian placed the gun on the concrete.
Ortiz kicked it away. She was in her early forties, compact, dark-haired, and wearing body armor over the same rumpled navy shirt she had worn at the estate. A small cut marked her chin, probably from the forest or a rushed gear change.
One officer moved to Warren.
Ortiz crouched beside Sebastian. “How many?”
“At least one shooter. Dominic is on an internal speaker system. Ruby was alive two minutes ago.”
“Building plans show three cold rooms, an office level, and a rail tunnel.”
“The plans you have are old.”
“Because you renovated without permits?”
“Because the tunnel predates the building.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Where does it go?”
“River terminal.”
“You neglected to mention an underground route during our call.”
“I had forgotten it.”
“Convenient.”
“I used it once, nine years ago.”
“For what?”
“This is not the moment.”
“This is exactly the moment. What moves through it? People? Narcotics? Weapons?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“Enough that it was reinforced and ventilated.”
Ortiz stared at him, then spoke into her radio, ordering a team toward the terminal entrance. The signal held better near the loading bay.
A tactical medic began treating Warren.
Warren caught Ortiz’s sleeve. “Rourke monitors police bands.”
“How?”
“Estate equipment. He installed half of it.”
Ortiz switched channels and told her team to use encrypted short-range communication only.
The portable speaker clicked again.
“Lena,” Dominic said, “you always did take the service entrance.”
Ortiz looked toward the ceiling. “Dominic, let the girl walk out.”
“You arrested me in 2012.”
“You were carrying an unregistered gun.”
“It was registered to somebody.”
“Send Ruby out and we can discuss your nostalgia in person.”
A soft laugh came through the speaker. “You think Sebastian called you because he trusts you?”
“No. He called because he finally ran out of people he did.”
The building went silent.
Sebastian looked at her.
Ortiz kept her weapon aimed at the corridor.
Dominic said, “Sebastian comes to the old sorting room. Alone. Everyone else remains in the loading bay. If I see movement, the tunnel closes.”
Ortiz muted her radio. “He wants time.”
“He has Ruby.”
“He also has another exit.”
Sebastian said, “Then let me give you time.”
“No.”
“He expects me.”
“He expects to use your daughter to control the room.”
“He already is.”
Ortiz turned toward him. “You are not an officer, not a negotiator, and not an exception to bullets because people call you sir.”
“I know the building.”
“You forgot a tunnel five minutes ago.”
Warren, pale beneath the loading light, said, “Let him go.”
Ortiz looked down at him. “Blood loss affecting judgment?”
“Probably.”
“Then be quiet.”
“Dominic won’t talk to you. He wants Sebastian to admit something before this ends.”
“What?”
Warren’s breathing tightened. “That he made him.”
The words seemed to embarrass him. He looked away.
Sebastian had no answer ready because the statement was partly true.
He had met Dominic when they were both young enough to mistake survival for character. Dominic had been a freight clerk whose father owed money to the wrong bookmaker. Sebastian solved the debt and found a man with a clean face, a good memory, and no visible limit to what he could explain away.
Sebastian had rewarded every compromise.
By thirty-five, Dominic wore tailored gray coats and spoke about violence as a scheduling problem.
Ortiz watched Sebastian’s face. “What does he want?”
“Money. Safe passage.”
“That is what he asked for?”
“He hasn’t asked yet.”
“Then Warren is right. He wants something else.”
The speaker clicked.
“You have thirty seconds.”
Sebastian looked at Ortiz. “You asked what he wants. Let me find out.”
She swore under her breath.
Then she removed a small transmitter from her vest and clipped it beneath his shirt collar.
“You do not promise money, immunity, transportation, or evidence destruction. You do not reach for him. You do not improvise signals. You keep him talking.”
“I improvise for a living.”
“That is why your life is on fire.”
She stepped closer.
“If there is a clear chance to bring Ruby toward us, take it. If there isn’t, you do nothing heroic. Heroes are difficult to coordinate.”
Sebastian almost smiled. He did not have the energy.
He passed through the plastic strips alone.
The cold corridor smelled of bleach and rust. Water dripped from inactive cooling pipes. At the far end, a battery lantern glowed on the floor beside an open steel door.
Dominic waited in the sorting room.
He wore the same gray overcoat Micah had described. His silver hair was neatly combed. A pistol rested in his right hand. Ruby stood in front of him, her back against his legs.
Her wrists were no longer tied. One side of her dress was muddy. A bruise darkened her upper arm.
When she saw Sebastian, she inhaled sharply.
He stopped.
Every part of him wanted to cross the room. He forced his hands to remain open at his sides.
Ruby’s eyes dropped to his muddy shirt, his missing jacket, the blood on one cuff.
“Is Ranger okay?” she asked.
“He’s with Theo.”
“Micah got shot.”
“I know. He’s alive.”
Her mouth trembled, then steadied.
Dominic touched her shoulder with his free hand. Not gently, not roughly. Possessively.
“You see?” he said. “She has been worried about everyone except herself. I wonder where she learned that.”
“Let her come to me.”
“Soon.”
“You said I would be told what happens next.”
May you like
Dominic nodded toward a metal table. A tablet lay on it beside a document folder and a biometric security key.
“Forty-two million dollars is frozen across six accounts. You will authorize release. You will transfer controlling ownership of Northline, Cross Municipal, and the Riverton terminal leases. Then you will record a statement saying you ordered me to relocate funds and that I acted under threat.”
