Chapter 11 - The Mobilization|
Ten minutes later, the quiet suburban house was transformed into an intelligence command hub.
My father unlocked a secondary hidden armory behind the garage wall, pulling out heavy tactical vests, encrypted satellite radios, and specialized medical equipment. Julian sat in the corner of the kitchen, handcuffed to a radiator pipe, weeping softly, utterly ignored by both of us.
"Is Elena coming?" I asked, sitting on a wooden bench while my father strapped a lightweight tactical brace over my broken leg casts.
"Elena's already in position," my father replied, pulling the straps tight. "She's been tracking Vance's logistics team since midnight. The rail yard at Sector 4 isn't just an abandoned facility—it's Vance's primary black site."
"How are we going to get inside without them seeing us?" I asked, testing my weight on my braced leg. The pain was still sharp, but the rigid carbon-fiber brace allowed me to stand without my cane giving out under me.
"We aren't going in through the front," my father said, handing me a small, sleek cylinder resembling an insulin pen. "This is a digital blood extractor. If Vance demands a sample, you give him this. It contains an engineered synthetic compound designed by my team years ago."
I looked down at the cylinder. "What does it do?"
"The moment his bio-analyzer scans it, it will upload a corruptive virus directly into his master server, frying every piece of data he has stolen over the last twenty years," my father explained, his eyes locking onto mine. "It will buy us thirty seconds of complete darkness and system failure inside the facility."
"And that's when you strike?"
"That's when we strike," a woman's sharp voice echoed from the open garage doorway.
I turned quickly. Standing in the doorway was a woman in her late fifties, wearing a dark tactical jacket, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, holding a silenced sniper rifle over her shoulder.
Elena.
She looked at me, her sharp hazel eyes assessing me from head to toe before softening slightly.
"You look just like your mother, Audrey," Elena said softly. "Except Sarah never had to wear carbon-fiber leg braces into a warzone."
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"I'm ready," I said, setting my jaw, surprising even myself with the fierce resolve in my voice. "Let's go get my daughter."
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