Chapter 102 - Blood Under Capitol Hill
The suppressed rounds whispered through the damp air before the sound of the muzzles even reached them.
Chunks of concrete exploded near Claire’s ear, showering her hair with gray dust.
"Down!" Claire yelled, dropping onto one knee and returning fire in controlled, two-round bursts.
Her first shot caught the lead contractor directly in the throat plate.
He collapsed instantly, his weapon clattering across the wet concrete.
The remaining three operators immediately fanned out, utilizing overlapping fields of fire with terrifying discipline.
"These aren't private contractors," Claire shouted over the crack of gunfire. "They're Tier-One assets!"
"Sterling’s private guard," Margaret gasped, cowering behind an exposed iron pipe. "They answer only to his committee!"
Claire didn't have time to process the name.
She fired three rounds into an exposed steam conduit running along the ceiling above the advancing team.
The superheated brass pipe ruptured with an ear-splitting scream.
A blinding cloud of boiling white steam billowed into the narrow tunnel, engulfing the two forward operators.
Horrified screams echoed through the vapor as the scalding pressure shredded their tactical visors.
"Miller! Vance! Move north toward the storm drains!" Claire commanded, slapping a fresh magazine into her rifle.
"Claire, you can't hold them alone!" Admiral Vance protested, blood dripping from his temple where the blast had cut him.
"I won't be alone," Claire replied coldly. "I'm the One-Eighty-Seven. Now run!"
Miller didn't hesitate; he seized Margaret’s arm with bruising force and dragged her down the branching utility conduit.
Vance hesitated for half a heartbeat, looking into Claire’s eyes.
In those dark eyes, he saw the same unbroken resolve that had survived forty days behind enemy lines in the Hindu Kush.
"God be with you, Commander," Vance whispered, and turned to follow Miller into the darkness.
Claire pivoted back toward the steam cloud.
Through the white haze, the fourth operator lunged forward, knife drawn in an ice-pick grip.
He was massive, moving with the fluid lethality of a career assassin.
Claire deflected the blade with the receiver of her rifle, the steel scraping with a high-pitched screech.
The operative drove his shoulder into her midsection, slamming her hard against the brick foundation.
Her weapon flew from her grasp, splashing into the murky water below.
Claire felt the sharp sting of cracked ribs, but pain was merely data to her nervous system.
She seized the operator’s wrist, twisting his arm outward while driving the heel of her combat boot directly into his knee.
The bone snapped with a sickening crunch.
The man grunted, dropping his weight, but slashed wildly toward her jugular.
Claire leaned back, feeling the wind of the razor-sharp edge graze her skin.
She caught his helmet chin-strap with her left hand, wrenching his head violently sideways, and drove her elbow directly into the soft cartilage of his exposed neck.
He choked, his grip faltering.
Claire didn't give him a second chance.
She snatched the combat knife from his hand, stepped inside his guard, and neutralized him with clinical, lethal finality.
The man collapsed into the standing water, motionless.
Claire stood over him, her chest heaving, the icy cold water soaking through her torn trousers.
She picked up his dropped tactical radio.
From the speaker, a voice spoke with absolute clarity, unruffled by the firefight.
"Team Leader, report. Has the asset been liquidated?"
Claire keyed the transmission button.
Her voice was as cold as an open grave.
"Three down. One in the water," Claire said into the mic. "Send the rest of your committee, Senator."
There was a long, chilling pause on the other end of the radio frequency.
Then, the man laughed softly.
"Commander Montgomery," the voice replied, cultured, patrician, and entirely devoid of human empathy. "Your brother had that same stubborn fire in his belly."
Claire’s breath hitched in her throat.
"What did you say about Liam?" she demanded, her knuckles whitening on the radio casing.
"Liam was an exceptional young man," the Senator replied smoothly. "He actually believed the Constitution was worth dying for."
"I will find you," Claire said, every syllable dripping with deadly venom.
"You're already in my house, my dear," the Senator replied. "Look at the bricks beneath your feet."
Claire looked down.
Embedded in the arched brickwork just above the waterline was a weathered iron marker: *U.S. CAPITOL SUB-LEVEL DRAINAGE — 1863.*
"You're under the Senate wing, Claire," the Senator whispered. "And you have exactly ten minutes before the Capitol Police declare you a domestic terrorist."
The radio went dead with a burst of static.
Claire dropped the radio into the water.
May you like
She racked the slide of the dead operator's rifle, turned on her heel, and ran down the tunnel toward her mother.
***
