Chapter 4 - The Sound of Glass
Down on Deck Two, the heavy steel fire doors were bowing inward under the relentless application of a hydraulic breaching wedge.
Marco Bell braced his shoulder against the reinforced timber door of the emergency stowage locker, his pistol drawn and aimed at the narrow gap where the steel frame was beginning to buckle. Behind him, Eleanor held Lily tightly against her chest, the little girl’s face buried in her mother’s jacket, her fingers still clutching her worn notebook.
"Mr. Bell!" one of the security guards shouted from the far corner of the room. "The bulkhead seam is giving way! They're pumping gas through the ventilation!"
A sweet, sickly-sweet odor of almond and industrial solvent began to drift down from the ceiling vents.
Marco coughed, pulling his collar over his mouth and nose. "Hold the line! The boss is coming!"
"No, he isn't," a calm, raspy voice echoed from the corridor outside.
Victor Shaw stepped into the shattered frame of the doorway, his white maintenance overalls stained with grease, the crescent scar glowing white beneath the flashing emergency strobe. In his right hand, he held a commercial nitrogen canister fitted with a spray nozzle.
"Moretti is busy with family matters," Shaw said, a cold grin cutting across his weathered face. "And you, Marco... you were always a sentimental dog. Dying for a sinking ship."
Shaw raised the nozzle.
Before the thumb could depress the valve, a small, blue-ribboned missile launched from behind the storage crate.
Lily didn't scream. She didn't hesitate. She threw her heavy, metal-cornered notebook with every ounce of eight-year-old fury she possessed, catching Shaw squarely across the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack.
Shaw staggered back, cursing sharply, his hand flying to his bleeding nose.
Marco didn't waste the microsecond of distraction. He lunged forward, slamming the butt of his pistol into Shaw’s temple with a dull, concussive thud. The former intelligence operative collapsed to the steel deck like a felled oak, the nitrogen canister clattering away across the floor.
May you like
"Good girl," Marco wheezed through the thickening gas, grabbing Eleanor by the arm. "Move! Now!"
They surged out past the unconscious form of Victor Shaw, racing up the internal service stairwell toward Deck Six, leaving the poisoned air behind them.
