Emergency lighting flickered on as Ham’s team moved like shadows through the smoke and chaos.
Chloe captured it all. North neutralizing the guards. West securing the exit, blocking escape routes.
She lost Skeet and Ham, then found them in the loading area, evacuating a handful of people.
Everything was going exactly according to plan.
Except . . . where was Volkov?
She got up, headed toward the building, staying low.
Not engaging. She just needed a look?—
A shot pinged off the container behind her. She ducked.What?
She spotted a security guard headed her direction.
Run—she shouldrun. But?—
But that meant abandoning her post. Losing the evidence that could expose Volkov’s plan. Meant letting the story of her career slip away into the Bangkok night.
Meant breaking her promise to Skeet even more.
She scurried into the brush and kept snapping pictures.
Muzzle flashes lit up the container maze as Volkov’s people opened fire on her position. Metal sparked around her as bullets ricocheted off steel. She turned her camera to record and perched it in a tree and... hit the dirt.
And she got it. The modified HVAC equipment. The chemical containers. The face of every person involved in planning mass murder.
This was what she lived for. The moment when journalism became a weapon against evil.
The shots stopped and she poked her head up.
Spotted Volkov retreating toward the river docks.
He carried a briefcase and she knew—justknew—it contained intel about the ICONSIAM attack. Evidence that was about to disappear into the Bangkok night.
Skeet was going to kill her.
Maybe.
She took off as Volkov fled through the container maze toward the river, her camera bouncing against her chest as she navigated the industrial obstacle course. Behind her, Ham’s team continued their assault, but their shouts grew fainter with each step.
Volkov had a head start, but Chloe was fast.
And this story was not going to escape. For Dr. Tobias. For Dr. Radic. For little Kamon.
The river docks stretched into darkness ahead, wooden piers jutting into the Chao Phraya’s muddy water. Volkov’s footsteps echoed as he ran toward what looked like a speedboat waiting in the shadows, moored in the closest slip.
Of course he had an escape plan.
Aw,she should have grabbed a radio.
The man reached the dock and fumbled with the speedboat’s mooring lines. The briefcase sat on the pier beside him.
She bent low and, yeah, did something crazy—ran up the dock. But the briefcase was right... there. Close enough to grab if she could just?—
Hands seized her from behind. One arm snaked around her waist, the other pressed something cold and metallic against her temple.