Chapter 16 - The Shadow Master
The skirmish in the ravine was brutal and swift. Within three minutes, all eight floor operatives from the first wave lay motionless in the snow.
Silence returned to the forest, broken only by the crackle of burning brush near the crashed helicopter.
Grant approached the snow vehicle, his weapon raised, checking the bodies. Among the fallen was a man wearing a high-ranking tactical uniform with a satellite communications rig strapped to his chest.
The radio on the rig was squawking with static.
"Team Alpha, report," a cold, refined voice demanded over the radio. It wasn't Julian Vane's voice. It was deeper, older, and carried an air of absolute authority.
Grant picked up the receiver. "Alpha team is gone."
A long pause followed on the line.
"Grant Callahan," the voice said calmly. "Impressive. You survived St. Jude, you survived the missile, and you eliminated my best strike team."
"Who are you?" Grant asked, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"I am the person who built the Vane Group long before Julian ruined it with his petty greed," the voice replied. "I am Victor Vane. Clara’s father."
Grant felt a cold shock hit him. Clara’s father—the legendary founder of the Vane industrial empire—had been pronounced dead fifteen years ago in a private jet crash in South America.
"You're alive..." Grant breathed.
"I have always been alive, Grant," Victor said smoothly. "Julian was merely my instrument. Renata was my operative. Clara was my greatest mistake—she developed a conscience. And you... you are simply an obstacle in my way."
"Where are you, Victor?" Grant demanded.
"Look up at the highway, Grant," Victor replied softly.
May you like
Grant turned toward the ridge overlooking the canyon stream. Parked along the elevated mountain road were six heavy armored sedans. Dozens of armed men in black tactical gear were lined up along the guardrail, their weapons all trained down into the ravine.
And standing in the center of them was an elderly man with silver hair, holding a sleek gold-plated cane.
