“I can see them.” His voice was calm. Focused. “Upload's at fifty-nine percent. Buy me two minutes.”
Two minutes. A lifetime in combat.
I moved forward, intercepting the first wave. A man swung at me with a tactical baton. I caught his wrist, twisted until bones snapped, used his momentum to throw him into his partner. Both went down. I shot them where they lay.
Sebastian spun in his chair, bow drawn, and released three arrows in rapid succession. Three different targets. All headshots. Then he was back to typing, one hand on the keyboard while the other nocked another arrow.
A guard came at me from the left, knife flashing. I parried with my forearm, felt the blade bite into my jacket but not skin. Grabbed his knife hand, broke his elbow backward. He screamed. I silenced him with a shot to the temple.
“Seventy-four percent,” Noah said. “Almost there.”
Two guards coordinated an assault on Sebastian's position. Smart. Professional. They moved in a pincer formation, covering each other.
Sebastian saw them coming. Didn't stop typing. His left hand flew across keys while his right hand grabbed a throwing knife from his belt. He threw it without looking. It buried itself in the first guard's throat. The man dropped.
The second guard raised his rifle. Sebastian grabbed his bow, rolled backward out of his chair, came up firing. The arrow caught the guard mid-chest. He fell.
Sebastian was back in the chair, typing, before the echoes faded.
“Ninety-one percent,” Noah reported.
A massive guard, easily two hundred fifty pounds, charged through the server racks like a bull. Headed straight for Sebastian. For the terminal.
I intercepted him. Barely. He hit me like a truck. We went down together, rolled across concrete. His fist caught my jaw. Stars exploded. I tasted copper.
I drove my knee into his ribs. Once. Twice. Three times. Felt something crack. He didn't slow. Grabbed my throat with hands like vices. Squeezed.
Air cut off. Vision narrowing. I reached for my knife. Fingersfound the handle. Drew it. Drove it up under his armpit. Twisted. He roared, grip loosening. I yanked the blade out, slashed across his throat. Arterial spray painted my face.
He collapsed on top of me. Dead weight. I shoved him off, gasping.
“Upload complete,” Noah said. “I've got everything. Files are already decrypting. Get out of there. Now.”
“Copy.” Sebastian yanked the cable free, grabbed his bow. “Viktor, we're done.”
We moved fast. Back through the basement. Over bodies that were still warm. More guards poured down the stairs. We were outnumbered. Outgunned. Trapped.
“Stairs are blocked,” I said.
“Then we make a new exit.” Sebastian nocked an arrow, fired at a support beam. The arrow embedded deep. He fired another. Then another. Creating a pattern.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trust me.”
He fired one more arrow into a gas line running along the ceiling. The spark from the obsidian tip ignited the leak.
“Run!”
We sprinted toward the far wall. Behind us, the explosion tore through the basement. Heat and pressure lifted us off our feet. We hit a weakened section of concrete wall. It gave way. We crashed through into a storm drain.
Water rushed past. Cold. Fast. Filthy.
“That was insane,” I said.
“But effective.” Sebastian grabbed my arm. “Come on. Drain empties into the Thames.”
We waded through waist-deep water. My shoulder throbbed where shrapnel had caught me. Blood mixed with sewage. Everything hurt.
