Page 15 of Resuscitation
Connor had lifted the shelf aside and helped Brick back up to his feet. Brick brushed a palm over his now dust-covered mohawk, then fished out the imager from beside an ancient waffle iron. Mercer took one look and saw the screen was cracked as well as the housing. Damn thing was dead.
“Fucking great.” He tossed it back on the floor and touched his radio mic.
“It’s Alpha. I think he’s headed to the top floor, get your ass up there. We’ll follow from this side. Over.”
“Copy, out.”
Mercer scanned the area through his goggles, looking for the easiest way through the mountains of junk. “Here, this way.”
He shoved a chair aside and edged along the perimeter, skirting more debris, heading toward a closed door—a closet beneath the steps—and the landing beyond it. The others followed, forming up to keep an eye on the balcony above them.
Mercer reached the landing at the bottom of the staircase, clambered onto the dresser blocking his way, and jumped over. He checked the level above, then methodically moved up the steps, aiming his weapon to meet any potential threats with gritted teeth. Connor and Brick trudged behind him.
At the top of the first flight of stairs, Mercer jabbed a finger toward the doors on the right, silently ordering his brother and Brick to check them. Down a short hallway across from him, he spotted a metal circular staircase leading to the top floor—that was where the servant’s staircase must come up from the kitchen, he thought. Which meant the rest of his team should have it covered from below.
Down the main hallway, the front staircase continued up, forming an atrium that was topped high above by a fancy wrought-iron skylight. Closer to him was a heavy oak door, slightly ajar, darkness behind it. He moved alongside the doorframe with a predator’s grace. His gloved hand gently brushed the wood, feeling for any vibrations or sounds from within.
Nothing.
He glanced back at Connor and Brick, who stacked up behind him, their weapons at the ready. Connor nodded, his face tight with anticipation, while Brick adjusted his grip on his weapon.
Mercer leaned in closer to the door, straining to hear any sign from Watts—a slight creak of floorboards, rustle of clothing, anything. But the room beyond was eerily silent.
He gave a final, deliberate nod, then pushed the door open, stepping to the side to allow Brick to rush in first, weapon at the ready. Brick moved with surprising agility for his large frame, sweeping the shotgun left and right, covering every angle. Connor followed close behind, gaze sweeping through the shadows. Mercer was the last to enter, intensely scanning the room that was scattered with old, worn furniture and piled-up storage crates. Too many hiding places for Mercer’s liking.
A creaking of boards from the hallway broke his focus, and he ran back out just in time to see Watts heading toward the circular back staircase. As Mercer raised his weapon, a shotgun blast came from the stairs, ripping a hole in the wooden paneling behind him.
Mercer ducked, ready to return fire, then stopped himself.
He needed Watts alive to find the jewels.
“He’s going up the rear steps,” he said into the radio to the team downstairs. “Get up here!”
Connor and Brick rejoined him, and they cautiously cleared the hallway leading to the spiral staircase Watts had run up. The rest of the team came up the stairs below, guns at the ready. He waved to them. Last thing he needed was to get shot by his own guys.
Now with reinforcements, he climbed the narrow spiral stairs. Watts had made a lethal mistake—he was trapped, nowhere to go unless he had a helicopter waiting on the roof.
Mercer had spent years pacing a cell, dreaming of this exact scenario. Watts would get what was coming to him, and Mercer would finally get the rubies that were rightfully his.
Halfway up, a loud thud came from above.
And another.
Mercer’s eyes widened at the sight of a large wardrobe tumbling toward him. He stumbled backward back down the steps before slamming straight into Connor, who was close behind. They had no choice but to jump over the iron railing to the hallway below. The wardrobe slammed into a vertical support beam with a loud bang, the bottom corner jutting out toward them, completely wedged in, blocking their way.
Mercer swore as he rose to his feet. The others, Brick and the second team, were now all standing in the hallway, looking to Mercer for instruction.
Mercer opened fire with his MP5 in short bursts, emptying a magazine and reloading, using another until it too ran dry, ripping the wardrobe into shards. Then he waved his men forward, and they cleared the remnants of wardrobe, tossing the wood onto the hallway floor until a gap appeared. He resumed the chase, sprinting up the steps, followed by his men. They fanned out along the corridors surrounding the top floor atrium, finding more doorways and possible hiding places.
Mercer held up his hand as he heard a faint creaking noise from one of the rooms. He headed through the first door, barrel first, scanning the room through the green hue of his NVGs while swinging the barrel of his weapon from left to right.
A door at the end of the room, closing.
Fuck!
Mercer sprinted across the space, reaching it in seconds. The thick metal door was almost shut. He wedged his rifle butt into the space just in time to stop its latching. Through the gap, Watts desperately tried to hammer the MP5 loose with the butt of his shotgun.
Brick and Connor raced to help. Their combined brute strength pushed the door open. Mercer shoved his way inside, flinging Watts backwards. Before the old man could regain his footing, Mercer rushed in with a hard punch to the gut, sending Watts reeling onto the ground before scuttling away.
