Chapter 71

Mitch pulled himself off the floor and coughed. Dust filled his lungs, and the underground room was pitch black. He couldn't believe that his goddaughter had dared defy him once again. Mitch fumbled in his suit jacket, searching for the Streamlight he kept on him at all times. His days running covert ops taught him to be prepared for anything.

"Spare the rod, spoil the child," he said through gritted teeth. "Sorry, Marcy, but your granddaughter broke her end of the bargain. I'm afraid she signed your death sentence." The silver Streamlight came to life, revealing an empty chair. Two pairs of metal handcuffs were arranged neatly on the table. "What the..." The beam swept the rocky room. Mitch nearly choked when he realized that the single barrel shotgun was also missing.

To avoid giving away his position, Mitch quickly extinguished the Streamlight and crept out of the room. He knew when to call it quits. Sometimes, an operation, no matter how well planned, just went bad. You had to know when to fold 'em up and move on. Besides, a good operator always had a fallback plan.

He and Max had stashed caches of gold in trustworthy banks in the Caribbean. It was time for Señor Conroe to find a nice island and retire. The board of directors could run the clinic while he was in exile. He hugged the walls, making his way by memory alone. In his pocket, he could feel the reassuring shape of the Mercedes key. Carefully, he crept toward the spot where he had parked the armored SUV the day before.

In the operations center, a single, battery powered light sprung to life. Tony smashed his fist into the blank monitor of the dead security system. Without power, he would have no way to track the whereabouts of the two intruders. "I guess we're gonna settle this the old-fashioned way. Cover me." He motioned to the other man. The M-16 looked the wrong size on Tony, much like a thirteen year old boy holding his daddy's assault rifle for the first time. He switched on the flashlight mounted to the gun's Picatinny rails. The man behind him did the same. They crept out of the useless operations center, determined to destroy Liv and Finn.

"Holy shit," Finn whispered to Liv. "Did we do that?" She just smiled back at him. "I'll take point. You cover me," she said. Liv was about to flip on the flashlight mounted under the barrel when Finn shook his head. She nodded and stepped into the darkness of the mineshaft. Both crouched low and moved slowly, allowing their eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Ewww," she said in a whisper, her voice filled with disgust. "I think I stepped in someone's liver or something."

"That's gross. Stop doing that."

"I wasn't trying, promise." Their eyes had adjusted, and they could see that they had reached the decimated machine gun nest. Sand, blood, and body parts were scattered throughout the tunnel in front of them. The explosion had been violent; even the M-60 had been completely shredded.

Ahead, the faint beam from a distant light cut through the dust. It appeared to be coming from a side tunnel about twenty feet in front of them, just to the right of the main mineshaft. "That's why I didn't want to use the flashlight," Finn whispered as they crouched behind a small pile of tattered sandbags.

"Good reason," Liv whispered back. The light was growing closer, and Liv's finger rested nervously on the trigger of the AK-47. Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer, and she was having trouble remembering to breathe. She couldn't believe how calm Finn looked. She clutched the rifle to her chest like a security blanket. The approaching footsteps grew louder. The waiting was maddening. Liv wanted to jump up and start shooting, but she knew it would probably not end well.

Finn took deep, steady breaths, rifle at the ready as he peeked over the top. A severed hand lay on top of a pile of sandbags in front of him, fingers extended as if it were trying to poke him in the eyes. It took all the strength Finn had to maintain a calm composure. He knew if he panicked now, they might lose more than the fight. From his own experience, he knew it wasn't the action that was hardest, it was the waiting. As the light drew closer and closer, he could feel his body tense. The owner of the light paused on the other side of a rocky opening. Finn heard a familiar clinking sound as metal bounced against rock. Fuck.

"Grenade," he whispered to Liv, motioning for her to press against the sandbags and cover her ears. He drew her body close to his and they huddled together, waiting for the inevitable blast.