Chapter 9 - The Steel Beneath
They made two assumptions that cost them their advantage. First, they assumed that because I was an administrative investigator, I was soft. Second, they didn't know that Corpsman Santos had sewn a ceramic micro-blade into the underside of my dress uniform collar two months ago after the first death threat in San Diego.
While the lead contractor was adjusting a camera on a tripod to stage my 'accidental' demise, I scraped my collar against the steel chair's armrest, releasing the tiny blade into my right palm. The edge sliced through the zip-ties binding my wrists in four deliberate, sawing motions.
"Look at the lens, Avery," the man with the pry bar said, stepping forward.
I didn't look at the lens.
I exploded upward from the chair. My left hand caught his windpipe in a brutal open-palm strike, driving him backward into the tripod. My right hand swept down, seized the pry bar from his grip, and used its heavy curved end to crack the kneecap of the second man before he could draw his sidearm.
The third contractor drew a suppressed Glock, but a deafening crack shattered the warehouse skylight.
A flashbang grenade detonated between his feet, followed by two precisely placed rubber-slug rounds that slammed into his chest, dropping him like a sack of lead.
Ropes dropped through the shattered glass ceiling. Petty Officer Reed and a squad of heavily armed Navy Seabees in full tactical gear hit the concrete floor in fluid, lethal formation.
"Clear! Building secure!" Reed yelled, pulling off his night-vision goggles. He sprinted over, checking my pulse. "Commander, are you intact?"
"I'm whole, Reed," I coughed, wiping blood from my knuckles. "How did you find me?"
"Corpsman Santos tracked your smartwatch via a low-frequency encrypted transponder he piggybacked onto the Pacific Fleet buoy array," Reed grinned, breathing hard. "And someone else wants to talk to you."
Reed handed me a secure satellite handset. A familiar, gravelly voice crackled through the speaker.
May you like
"Avery," Vice Admiral Mercer said. "Sterling thought he relieved me. He forgot that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff still owes me his life from the Gulf War. I’ve just been appointed Special Inspector General for the Pacific Theater. How fast can you get to the USS *Nimitz*?"
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