Page 87 of Anchor
Three shots.Pop. Pop. Popfrom a suppressor. The attacker crumpled backward, head snapping. Dead before he fell. Againpop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Thud. Thud.
Reid lay, barely moving air.
Apex’s voice rang sharp as he dropped beside him, weapon still hot. “Hanlon!”
Relay skidded in behind him. “Jesus, is he breathing?”
Reid blinked. Once. Twice. “Vos,” he rasped, voice shredded. “He sent them.”
He tried to sit up and failed. His body wouldn’t answer. Ribs were gone. Shoulder bleeding out. Vision warped. He tasted blood again. All he could say: “…he didn’t want me dead fast…”
Apex crouched to check his pulse. “Don’t try to talk.”
Reid couldn’t argue. Vos hadn’t just tried to kill him. He’d tried to take him apart. Piece by bloody piece.
Relay’s screamripped through the corridor and the comms, ragged and panicked, bouncing off the concrete like a flare in the dark. “MAN DOWN! CRITICAL INJURIES. MED RESPONSE NOW! THREE TANGOES TOES UP.”
Apex was already over Reid, kneeling in blood. His hands were slick, pressing into the ragged tear in Reid’s flank, one knee bracing the weight.
“He’s crashing,” Apex snapped. “Pulse is weak. Bleeding out. My pressure isn’t slowing the blood flow. Flint, Bluebird, give me cover. Flint, lock the corridor. Nobody moves unless I say so!”
Footsteps thundered down the corridor. Combat boots. Tactical medkits. Bright blue gloves. “Coming through!” TrevorFoley barreled in with two medics on his heels, already barking orders. He knelt hard next to Reid, eyes laser-focused. “Talk to me, Apex.”
“Three deep stab wounds. One near the liver. Chest puncture, rib fractures, maybe a flail segment. One in the shoulder, deep. He’s not responsive.”
Foley snapped his fingers at the medics. “Chest seal now! Give me a sterile occlusive, vented if you’ve got it.”
“Can’t get a line,” the second medic called. “Veins collapsed. He’s dry!”
“EJ it.” Foley was already wiping Reid’s neck. “Prep a 14-gauge. Give me the pressure bag now. I want blood flow yesterday.”
Apex felt it. Reid wasn’t even twitching. Foley sank the needle into the external jugular with practiced force. No flinch. No response. That scared Apex more than anything.
“Get him on the board and gurney—now. Three count,” Foley called. “One, two—lift!”
Reid’s limp form shifted. Foley climbed up with them, holding the seal tight to Reid’s chest. Blood soaked the gauze. “O2 on him, now! We’re moving!”
Apex’s comm crackled. “Stack,check the bodies. Make sure they’re not rigged. If they move, you end ‘em. Lockjaw,verify IDs. I want names. And faces. Now. Scope…”
Apex’s voice hardened. “Get in the ceiling in the executive suite. Find a quiet way to put eyes on Claire. Do not alarm her. Torch, Bluebird, Flint, you’re on her. Nobody gets near her but me, Tuck or Ian. Keep her inside, safe, talking, and unaware.”
He tried to catch his breath. “Fuse, shut it all down. I want HQ blacked out. No external. No inbound. No radio. No drone. Nothing but line-of-sight. Hush, Ghostwire, sweep the building. Anything wired, rip it out. From now on: face-to-face only.”
They were almost at a full run. Apex held his weapon, ready to shoot, continuing his orders, “Static, find Tuck and Ian. Priority one. Eyes-on, voice-on. I don’t want them walking into this blind. Advise themnow.”
Relay was already ahead of the stretcher as Foley and his team moved, fast but careful, toward the medical wing. The walls were smeared in Reid’s blood. No one even glanced at it.
Foley muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “He’s circling the drain. We need a trauma bay, and I need my kit prepped. Call the center—we’re coming in hot.”
Apex turned, jaw locked, already moving. His hands were still shaking, blood crusted to his tactical gloves. “Vos didn’t want him dead,” he muttered under his breath. “He wanted him broken and then dead.”
His voice hit the comm. “Fuse, get me everything we have on Vos. I want it pulled, printed, cross-checked. He made it personal. And then shut down all wireless communication.”
ELEVATOR SHAFT TO LEVEL ONE – 1358 HOURS
The elevator creaked as it climbed, cables straining with a sound like metal screaming. Inside, the space was tight, tense, and soaked in blood.
Reid lay motionless on the stretcher. Pale. Barely breathing. Foley leaned over him, one hand pressed over the wound in his chest, the other using a tool to hold the skin open as more blood spilled. Too much. Too fast.
