Chapter 16 - The Iron Foundry Ambush
The Old Mercer Foundry stood like a blackened iron skeleton against the stormy backdrop of the industrial shipping channel. Rusting cranes hung over the churning, polluted waters of the bay like gallows.
The reinforced gates of the abandoned complex had been blasted off their hinges.
Daniel’s SUV skidded to a halt in the muddy courtyard, throwing up sheets of gray water. Daniel kicked open the driver’s side door and stepped into the freezing rain. He didn't wait for Marcus or the backup team he knew was five minutes behind him.
Fifteen minutes was the lifespan of a child injected with a high-dose neurotoxin. He had twelve minutes left.
Daniel drew his Glock, chambering a hollow-point round with a sharp, mechanical clack. His designer coat was discarded; he wore only a black tactical vest over his drenched shirt. In his eyes burned a cold, inhuman madness.
"Julian!" Daniel’s voice cut through the sound of the howling wind and pounding rain. "I’m here!"
The massive metal doors of the central blast furnace creaked open on their tracks.
Daniel stepped inside. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, diesel fuel, and decaying industrial waste. Above him, catwalks crisscrossed the darkness like a spider’s web.
In the center of the concrete floor, illuminated by a single industrial halogen work light, was a small wooden chair.
Mason was tied to it.
The boy was pale as marble, his head lolling against his small chest, his breathing shallow, wet, and labored. Around his neck, cinched brutally tight, was the steel replica collar. Attached to the collar was a digital timer glowing red: *08:42... 08:41...*
"Mason!" Daniel lunged forward.
*BANG.*
A high-caliber rifle round struck the concrete two inches in front of Daniel’s boot, sending shards of stone into his cheek.
"Take another step, and the next bullet doesn't miss, nephew," a cultured, smooth voice resonated from the shadows above.
Daniel looked up. Standing on the elevated crane platform forty feet above was Julian Mercer.
He didn't look like an old ghost. His hair was silver-streaked, his face weathered but sharp as a scalpel, his tailored black cashmere coat completely dry. In his hands, he held an antique lever-action hunting rifle.
"You're not Arthur's partner," Daniel spat, blood dripping down his cheek from the concrete shard. "You're a parasite."
"I built your empire, Daniel," Julian said softly, descending the metal stairs with deliberate, rhythmic steps. "Arthur supplied the charming smile and the aristocratic name. I supplied the brains and the steel. And when I demanded our company pursue true power, he locked me away and stole my life."
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"You killed Clara," Daniel growled, his knuckles turning white on the grip of his gun.
"Clara was an obstacle. She saw the discrepancies in the foundation’s books. She was far too clever for a trophy wife," Julian sneered, stepping onto the ground floor twenty paces from Daniel. "Victoria was so easy to manipulate. Give a greedy woman a taste of cruelty, and she’ll dance on any puppet string you hand her. She really believed that collar was her idea."
