Chapter 6 - The Raid on anniversary Warehouse
Down in the abandoned warehouse near the iron bridge, chaos erupted the moment the spotter’s radio went dead.
Colonel Gregory Vance slammed his fist against a folding metal table inside the makeshift command post, his face turning a furious, mottled crimson.
"What do you mean he's not at the bridge?!" Colonel Vance roared into a secure tactical mic. "We tracked the thermal beacon right to the dumpster! Flush out the alleyway! Tear that block apart brick by brick!"
Half a dozen tactical operatives scrambled toward the heavy roll-up metal doors, weapons raised, ready to sweep the perimeter.
Before they could touch the latch, the exterior corrugated steel siding of the warehouse buckled inward with a thunderous, concussive roar.
Boom.
A heavy breaching charge detonated against the loading bay doors, sending a blinding wall of yellow flame and billowing gray smoke across the interior floor.
Through the smoke strode Master Sergeant David Vance, his Kevlar vest strapped tight, holding a suppressed M4 carbine leveled directly at the center of the room. Flanking him was Sergeant Miller and a squad of heavily armed federal DOJ inspectors in full tactical gear, their badges gleaming under the emergency strobes.
"Drop your weapons! Federal task force! Nobody moves!" David shouted, his voice cutting through the smoke like a thunderclap.
Colonel Vance staggered backward, his eyes widening in absolute disbelief as he stared at the man he thought he had chained permanently beneath the rail terminal.
"Vance... you son of a bitch!" the colonel snarled, desperately reaching for the sidearm holstered at his belt.
Before his fingers could even brush the grip, a single, sharp crack echoed through the warehouse.
Thwack.
A bullet pierced the concrete floor an inch from Colonel Vance’s boots, kicking up a shower of white dust.
High above, perched on the steam plant rooftop across the canal, ten-year-old Noah kept his crosshairs locked squarely on the colonel’s chest through the Leupold scope.
"Next one won't hit the floor, Colonel," Noah’s voice broadcasted clearly over the open tactical radio channel linked to the warehouse speakers.
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Colonel Vance froze, his hands slowly rising into the air as the federal agents swarmed forward, slamming him face-first against the folding metal table and snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
The shadow weapons ring's invincible mastermind had been brought to his knees by a ten-year-old boy.
