Page 59 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
"You sent my team to die," I say quietly. Dangerous. "You fed intel to the traffickers. You murdered good people. There's no deal."
"You think you're different? Everyone cuts deals. That's the job."
"Not this time."
Healy's expression shifts. The calm mask cracks, showing something desperate underneath. "You're making a mistake. The network will come for you. They'll come for everyone you love. Your sister—what's her name? Bryn? She'll be the first."
I take a step forward, finger on the trigger.
Sierra touches my arm. "Chris. Don't."
The door behind us explodes inward. Three men pour into the room, weapons blazing. Healy's reinforcements from outside, finally responding to the chaos.
I shove Sierra behind the desk as bullets tear through the air. Return fire immediately, dropping the lead attacker. Sierra comes up beside me, her pistol barking sharp reports. We fight side by side, covering angles, moving as one unit.
One hostile goes down. Two. The third takes cover in the hallway, blind-firing around the corner. I pull my last grenade, cook it for two seconds, throw it down the hall. The explosion silences his weapon.
My rifle locks empty. I drop the magazine, slam in my last spare. Forty-five rounds left total between pistol and rifle.
"The upload!" I shout over the ringing in my ears. "Get to the terminal!"
Sierra doesn't argue. She holsters her weapon, scrambles to Healy's computer setup. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up systems, breaking through firewalls.
Healy uses the distraction to lunge for his desk drawer. I see the movement, react. Tackle him across the desk, both of us crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and rage.
He fights dirty. Goes for my eyes with his fingers, drives his knee toward my groin. I block, absorb the hits, give back worse. This isn't about technique anymore. This is about settling accounts.
I land a solid punch to his jaw. His head snaps back. He returns with an elbow to my temple that makes stars explodeacross my vision. We grapple, rolling across broken glass and spent brass casings.
Behind me, Sierra's voice: "I'm in! Uploading now!"
Healy hears it too. Desperation makes him strong. He gets a hand on my throat, squeezes. I drive my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunches. Blood sprays.
He releases my throat. I don't release him.
I get him in a chokehold, arm locked around his neck. Proper technique. Cuts off blood flow to the brain. He thrashes, claws at my arm, tries to throw me off.
I hold on.
Martinez's face flashes through my mind. Bishop's. Good men who trusted me, who died because of this man's corruption.
I hold on.
Healy's struggles weaken. His movements slow. Finally, he goes limp.
I hold on for three more seconds, then release. Check his pulse. Still alive, unconscious. I pull a zip tie from my belt and secure his wrists behind his back before he can come around.
Part of me wishes I'd held on longer.
"Chris." Sierra pulls me back to the present. "It's done. The upload is complete."
I push to my feet, move to her side at the terminal. The screen shows transmission logs scrolling past—hundreds of files uploading simultaneously to secure federal servers. Evidence of financial transactions, voice recordings, intercepted communications. Everything.
Sierra's sat phone buzzes. She answers, puts it on speaker.
"Sierra?" Barrett's voice crackles through. "What the hell did you just send me?"
"Everything," she says. "The entire corruption network. Financial records, communication intercepts, operative identities. It's all there."
