Chapter 4 - The Infiltration
0215 Hours.
The storm outside St. Augustine Trauma Center reached its absolute peak. Lightning flashed violently across the black Manhattan sky, illuminating the glass facade of the hospital in blinding sheets of white light. Thunder rattled the heavy windowpanes.
Inside, the hospital had fallen into a eerie, unnatural quiet.
Following Clare’s plan, Maya Vance had been secretly moved via the service elevator down to Sub-Basement 2—an old, decommissioned surgical bunker built during the Cold War, featuring foot-thick reinforced concrete walls and heavy steel doors. Priya, who had refused to leave Clare’s side despite learning the truth about her past, sat beside Maya’s bed monitoring the ventilator and IV drips.
On the main floor, the lights in the primary ER bay flickered, swung low, and died.
The secondary emergency generators groaned to life four seconds later, casting the corridors in a dim, amber emergency glow.
In the main lobby, Agent Miller stood near the security desk with his weapon drawn. Suddenly, the front glass doors blew inward in a shower of shattered safety glass and screaming metal!
Two flashbang grenades detonated simultaneously—BANG-BANG!—blinding white light and disorienting shockwaves ripping through the reception area.
Before the smoke could clear, four men dressed in black tactical uniforms, wearing gas masks and carrying suppressed submachine guns, swept into the lobby with brutal, military speed.
Agent Miller fired twice, striking the lead operative in the chest plate, but a burst of automatic fire drove Miller back behind the concrete pillar. Within ninety seconds, the three NCIS agents in the lobby were pinned down, outgunned by heavy automatic fire and tactical coordination.
"Team One, secure the elevators!" the mercenary team leader barked over his radio in a heavy Eastern European accent. "Team Two, find the girl! Search the ICU on the fifth floor! Move!"
Two mercenaries sprinted toward the main elevator bank, slamming a digital bypass key into the control panel. The heavy brass doors slid open, and they stepped inside, pressing the button for Sub-Basement 2, having already pulled the hospital's architectural blueprints from an encrypted satellite link.
The elevator descended smoothly through the shaft.
Ding.
The doors parted on Sub-Basement 2.
The corridor was completely dark, wrapped in pitch-black silence, smelling of old concrete, damp air, and stale antiseptic.
The lead mercenary raised his submachine gun, flicking his night-vision goggles down over his eyes. The world turned into a bright green thermal grid.
"Corridor clear," he whispered into his comms. "Moving to the observation suite."
They took five heavy steps down the narrow hall.
Then, from the dark shadow behind a stack of rusted supply crates, a low, guttural voice echoed through the silence:
"Havoc... Vat."
The Dutch command for Attack.
Out of the complete darkness, seventy-five pounds of pure muscle and fury detonated like a missile.
Havoc did not bark. He did not growl. He launched himself off the concrete wall, clearing six feet of air, striking the lead mercenary directly in the throat!
The force of the impact slammed the man hard against the concrete wall, sending his submachine gun clattering across the floor. Havoc’s jaws locked onto the tactical vest shoulder strap, tearing through flesh and kevlar with crushing, terrifying power.
"Gah! Help me!" the mercenary shrieked, thrashing violently.
The second mercenary spun around, bringing his submachine gun up to target the dog—
A shadow stepped out of the darkness behind him.
Clare Mercer did not use a gun. She wielded a heavy stainless-steel IV pole like a combat staff. With lightning speed, she drove the solid steel base directly into the mercenary's jaw!
CRACK!
The man’s head snapped back, his helmet flying off as he hit the floor unconscious.
Before the first mercenary could pull his sidearm, Clare stepped in, her boot snapping forward in a lethal martial arts heel-kick that struck the man directly in the temple, knocking him instantly out cold beside his partner.
Havoc released his grip, stepping back over the fallen men, his tail giving one quick, sharp wag as he looked up at Clare.
Clare dropped the bent IV pole, quickly stripping the two unconscious mercenaries of their zip-ties, weapons, and tactical radios. She secured them to the steam pipes along the wall in less than twenty seconds.
She picked up one of the tactical radios, adjusting the frequency.
"Leader, this is Team Two," a voice crackled through the earpiece from the main floor. "We have secured the main lobby. NCIS agents are neutralized. Proceeding downstairs to finish the package. Do you copy?"
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Clare raised the radio to her lips. She took a slow, deep breath, her green eyes turning into pure, unadulterated ice.
"Leader," Clare said into the microphone, her voice cool, calm, and terrifyingly clear. "This is Chief Warrant Officer Clare Mercer, 160th Night Stalkers. Your men are down. Your plan is compromised. And if you step one foot into my sub-basement... I will show you why they call us the Night Hunters."
