Chapter 9 - The Plaza Shootout
9 - 15
The granite plaza outside the federal courthouse erupted into chaotic pandemonium. Splintered stone, flying concrete dust, and the deafening crack of automatic gunfire filled the crisp autumn air as the four Vance Logistics operatives poured out of the wrecked delivery truck, laying down a relentless wall of suppressive fire to cover their advance toward Marcus Sterling.
"They're zeroing in on the evidence briefcases!" Eleanor shouted over the gunfire, pressing her back against the thick stone base of a neo-classical pillar.
She didn't hesitate. Leaning out from cover with calculated precision, she tracked the lead mercenary advancing up the steps. Two crisp, suppressed cracks from her Glock 19 echoed across the plaza. The lead operative’s tactical helmet jerked violently as a 9mm round struck his ceramic visor, dropping him backward onto the concrete stairs.
"Left flank!" Daniel yelled, popping up from behind the stone planter and putting down a controlled three-round burst that forced the second mercenary to dive behind the wreckage of the truck cab.
Marcus Sterling, clutching the titanium briefcases with white-knuckled desperation, slammed his shoulder against the heavy oak doors of the courthouse, tumbling inside just as a barrage of rifle rounds splintered the wood inches from his face.
With the primary evidence safely inside the federal building, the tactical dynamic of the firefight shifted instantly. The remaining three mercenaries realized their window of opportunity was closing rapidly.
"Fall back! Burn the payload!" the squad leader barked in a harsh, accented voice, reaching into his tactical vest for a phosphorus incendiary grenade.
"Oh, no you don't," Eleanor muttered coldly.
Instead of waiting behind cover, Eleanor executed a rapid tactical advance, sprinting across the open stone terrace while utilizing the cascading marble steps as intermittent cover. She planted her right foot firmly, raised her weapon with both hands, and squeezed the trigger twice.
Crack-crack.
The rounds struck the mercenary’s shoulder and wrist precisely as he pulled the pin on the incendiary device. The grenade slipped from his fingers, dropping directly onto the floor of the truck bed amidst spilled fuel canisters.
WHOOSH.
A massive wall of searing white flames instantly engulfed the delivery truck cab, trapping the remaining operatives in a furious cage of fire and smoke. Sirens wailed in the distance as San Francisco Police Department cruisers and federal marshals converged on the plaza from three directions, their red and blue lights flashing against the towering glass skyscrapers.
Within sixty seconds, the surviving mercenaries dropped their weapons, raising their hands in surrender as a swarm of armed federal agents rushed the plaza, pinning them to the pavement.
Eleanor lowered her weapon, letting the hot barrel cool as she exhaled a slow, steady breath. She holstered her Glock, adjusted the lapel of her tailored navy pantsuit, and turned to look at Daniel Hawthorne, who was calmly brushing a speck of concrete dust off his charcoal suit sleeve.
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"Well," Daniel remarked, a faint, dangerous smile playing across his lips. "That certainly beats dropping off the evidence via certified mail."
"Richard Vance is throwing everything he has at us because he knows the federal grand jury is convening in thirty minutes," Eleanor replied, her emerald eyes hardening into steel. "Let’s go give him his verdict."
