Chapter 19 - The Final Confrontation
"You truly are relentless,
Mara,"
Grant sneered,
stepping out from behind the wall of armed guards,
looking entirely out of place in this high-tech,
underground warzone.
"I told them you would figure out the coordinates,
I told them you wouldn't be able to resist playing the hero."
"How did you get out of federal custody?"
I demanded,
my hand instinctively dropping toward the pistol holstered at my thigh.
"When you control the director of the agency,"
Grant laughed,
gesturing vaguely toward Miller,
"the federal government works for you,
not the other way around."
Director Miller stepped forward,
his face a mask of cold,
bureaucratic indifference,
holding a suppressed pistol casually in his right hand.
"You have been a massive thorn in my side,
Mara,"
Miller stated,
his voice completely devoid of the warmth he used to fake during our performance reviews.
"You were supposed to be a blind,
obedient asset,
managed perfectly by your husband."
"You sold out your country,
Miller,"
Ortega growled,
raising his assault rifle,
aiming it directly at the director's chest.
"For what?
Money?
Power?"
"For order,
Agent Ortega,"
Miller replied smoothly,
not even flinching at the sight of the weapon.
"The world is run by data,
and whoever controls the data,
controls the future."
"Not anymore,"
I interjected,
pointing proudly at the massive monitors displaying the completion of the global upload.
"Every file,
every transaction,
every piece of evidence proving your treason is currently sitting in the inboxes of every major news outlet in the world."
Miller's confident expression finally cracked,
a flash of genuine,
terrified panic crossing his eyes as he looked at the screens.
"Shut it down!"
Miller screamed at Grant,
his sophisticated facade completely shattering.
"Shut the servers down right now!"
Grant rushed toward the secondary terminal,
his face pale with sudden,
overwhelming fear,
but it was far too late.
The data was gone,
copied millions of times over,
impossible to contain,
impossible to erase.
"Kill them!"
Miller ordered the guards,
raising his own weapon in a desperate,
frantic panic.
But Ortega was faster.
Ortega was a seasoned combat veteran,
and he moved with blinding,
lethal speed.
He fired a precise,
controlled burst,
taking down three of the elite guards before they could even pull their triggers.
The server room erupted into absolute,
chaotic violence.
Bullets shattered the expensive monitors,
sparks showered down from the severed power cables,
and the deafening roar of automatic weapons filled the enclosed space.
I dove behind the heavy central console,
drawing my pistol,
returning fire with cold,
calculated accuracy.
I saw Miller retreating,
cowardly hiding behind his remaining men,
trying to escape through a side maintenance door.
"Cover me!"
I yelled to Ortega,
sprinting across the open floor,
sliding behind a row of towering server racks as bullets tore through the metal exactly where I had just been standing.
I flanked the remaining guards,
taking two of them out with precise headshots,
clearing the path toward the back of the room.
Suddenly,
a heavy,
brutal weight slammed into my side,
knocking the pistol from my hand,
sending me crashing hard onto the concrete floor.
I rolled over,
gasping for breath,
and looked up to see Grant standing over me,
holding a heavy metal wrench he had grabbed from a technician's toolkit.
"You ruined everything!"
Grant screamed,
his charming,
handsome face twisted into a mask of pure,
unadulterated hatred and psychotic rage.
He swung the heavy wrench toward my skull,
a lethal,
desperate strike meant to end my life.
I rolled violently to the left,
the wrench smashing into the concrete,
sending painful vibrations up his arm.
I did not try to run,
I did not try to reason with him,
because the woman who used to fear him was dead.
I swept my leg out,
striking his knee with brutal force,
feeling the satisfying pop of his joint giving way.
Grant screamed in agony,
collapsing onto the floor beside me.
I scrambled onto his chest,
grabbing the collar of his expensive coat,
and drove my fist into his jaw with every ounce of anger,
pain,
and betrayal I had harbored for the last four years.
His head snapped back,
blood spurting from his broken nose,
his eyes rolling back slightly as consciousness began to slip away from him.
"This is the real world,
Grant,"
I whispered,
panting heavily,
staring down into his terrified,
broken eyes.
"And you are finally completely out of control."
Across the room,
the gunfire suddenly ceased.
I looked up to see Ortega standing over the bleeding,
lifeless body of Director Miller,
smoke gently wafting from the barrel of Ortega's rifle.
"The guards are down,"
Ortega called out,
clutching his injured side,
his face pale but victorious.
"And we have about three minutes before the local authorities arrive to investigate the massive explosion we caused outside."
I stood up,
leaving Grant groaning and bleeding on the floor,
a broken,
pathetic shell of a man who would spend the rest of his miserable life in a federal supermax prison.
"Let's go,
Rafe,"
I said,
picking up my pistol,
feeling a massive,
May you like
overwhelming weight finally lift off my shoulders.
"Our job here is completely done."
