Page 47 of Viking
The control center door was locked, but that didn’t matter anymore.I kicked it open, wood splintering around the deadbolt as it gave way.The room beyond was larger than I’d expected -- a combination office and surveillance center.Computer monitors lined one wall, displaying camera feeds from around the compound.Maps covered another, red pins marking locations across the country.And behind a wide metal desk, a man rose slowly to his feet, his posture military-straight despite the chaos we’d brought to his doorstep.
One look into his cold eyes and the way he held himself told me everything -- this was our target.The man who’d ordered Kris’s death.The man who’d sent killers after Karoline and Athena.
“You’re too late,” he said, his voice oddly calm.“The data is already being wiped from the backup servers.”
I advanced into the room, Glock trained on his chest.“We got what we came for.”
Something flickered across his face -- surprise, quickly masked by professional indifference.He was older than I’d expected, maybe mid-fifties, with close-cropped gray hair and the lean, hard physique of someone who hadn’t let age soften him.His eyes were pale blue, almost colorless in the harsh fluorescent light, and utterly devoid of emotion as they assessed me.
“The biker,” he said, recognition dawning.“Kringle’s friend.”
I felt my finger tighten on the trigger.“That’s right.”
He smiled, a thin stretching of lips that never reached his eyes.“You know, we’ve been watching you since you took in his sister.Curious choice, hiding her in plain sight at a biker compound.”
“Worked well enough to keep her alive while we tracked you down,” I countered, scanning the room for other threats without taking my eyes off him completely.
His gaze flicked to my cut, to the patches that marked me as Road Captain of the Dixie Reapers.“This isn’t your first time doing something like this.”
I said nothing, continuing my slow advance.Something about his calm unnerved me.He should have been more afraid, more desperate.The desk between us was bare except for a laptop and a framed photo turned away from me.
“Your friend Kringle was good,” he continued, his hands relaxed at his sides.“Too good.Should have stayed in his lane.”
“Is that why you killed him?”
Another smile, colder than the first.“We gave him options.He made his choice.”
In one fluid motion, his hand slipped beneath the desk.I fired instinctively, but he was already moving, diving to the side as my bullet splintered the wood where he’d been standing.He came up with a knife in his hand -- not a tactical blade, but an old KA-BAR similar to mine.Military issue.The weapon of a man who preferred to get close.Mine had been a gift from Kris.
“Let’s see what you’re made of, Road Captain,” he snarled, all pretense of calm vanishing as he launched himself across the room.
I holstered my Glock and drew my own knife in one smooth motion.We circled each other, both recognizing the training in the other’s movements.
He struck first, a probing attack aimed at my left side.I parried, metal scraping against metal with a sound that set my teeth on edge.He was fast for his age, and skilled.This wasn’t some desk jockey who ordered kills from a distance.This man had blood on his hands long before Kris’s.
“You should have stayed out of it,” he said, feinting right before slashing at my midsection.“This goes higher than you can imagine.”
I blocked his strike and countered with one of my own, our blades locking momentarily before we broke apart.“High enough to include Senator Chambers and Senator Miller?”
His eyes widened fractionally -- confirmation that Wire’s intelligence was solid.His next attack came harder, fury adding speed to his movements.I caught his wrist, but his momentum carried us both into a bank of monitors, sending them crashing to the floor.He used the collision to slam his elbow into my already bruised jaw, stars exploding behind my eyes.
I stumbled back, tasting fresh blood.He pressed his advantage, his knife slicing through the air inches from my throat.I caught his arm and twisted, using his momentum to throw him over my hip.He landed hard but rolled immediately, coming back to his feet with practiced grace.
“You think you’re protecting them?”he asked, circling again.“The woman and the child?You’ve only painted targets on their backs.”
My grip tightened on my knife.“The only targets tonight are you and your operation.”
He laughed, a cold, empty sound.“My death changes nothing.There are others.Many others.”
“We’ll find them too.”
We crashed together again, a brutal exchange of blows.His knife caught my forearm, opening a line of fire across my skin.I drove my knee into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs.We grappled across the room, knocking over chairs and slamming into walls.A picture frame fell, glass shattering across the floor.The map with its mysterious red pins tore under the impact of our bodies.
“Your friend died screaming.Begged for his life at the end.”
Rage exploded behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding.I headbutted him, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage as his nose broke.He staggered back, blood streaming down his face.
“Liar.Kris would never beg.”
