Chapter 8 - The Breach|
The abandoned copper mine was a decaying monument to forgotten industry. Rusted corrugated iron clung to wooden frames, and the massive, gaping mouth of the main shaft breathed cool, stale air into the oppressive desert heat.
Damon crouched behind a rusted out piece of heavy machinery, fifty yards from the main entrance. Two of Victor’s thugs were smoking cigarettes near the heavy wooden doors, laughing about something completely oblivious to the death surrounding them.
Through his earpiece, Damon heard two soft, suppressed thwips.
On the ridgeline, the two perimeter snipers dropped silently into the dust, neutralized by Ghost.
Damon raised his hand, signaling the two operators flanking him.
They moved like phantoms, crossing the open ground in seconds. Before the men at the door could even register the movement, Damon’s men were upon them. A swift, brutal strike with the butt of a rifle shattered a jaw; a chokehold neutralized the other. Both guards were dragged into the shadows, unconscious, without a single shot fired.
Damon stacked up against the heavy wooden door, his heart pounding a slow, deliberate rhythm against his ribs.
He held up three fingers. Then two. Then one.
The operator beside him kicked the door with devastating force. The wood splintered and gave way, crashing inward.
“Go! Go!” Damon shouted.
They poured into the dim, dusty interior of the main processing building.
The element of surprise was absolute. Four of Victor’s men were sitting around a makeshift table, playing cards. They scrambled for their weapons, shouting in panic.
The shadow team opened fire. The suppressed weapons spat lethal precision. In less than three seconds, all four men were on the floor, incapacitated or dead.
Damon swept the room, his rifle raised, his eyes frantically searching the shadows.
“Clear!” one of the operators shouted.
“Where is she?” Damon demanded, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
A muffled sound came from a small, glass-enclosed supervisor’s office suspended above the main floor.
Damon didn't wait for his men to clear the stairs. He sprinted up the metal grated steps, his boots clanging loudly. He kicked the office door open.
Selena was there.
She was tied to a heavy metal chair with thick plastic zip-ties, her mouth covered with silver duct tape. Her beautiful face was bruised, her cream blouse torn at the shoulder, and her eyes were wide with absolute terror.
Standing behind her was Victor’s lieutenant, a massive, scarred enforcer named Cruz.
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Cruz had a gun pressed directly against the back of Selena’s head.
“Drop the rifle, Reyes!” Cruz screamed, his hand shaking with adrenaline. “Drop it, or I paint this office with her brains!”
