She slipped around another stack of crates and was about to move toward the center of the room when she came face to face with four more guards hiding behind the wooden barricade, all waiting for their chance to enter the fray.
There was a momentary look of surprise on the first man’s face as he started to raise his weapon, but he was too slow. Emily was quicker on the draw and planted three rounds into his chest. The next man in line was fast to react, and he lunged at her with a kick, knocking the gun from her hand and onto the floor against the crates. He threw a quick jab that she narrowly dodged, then she brought her elbow up and into the guard’s nose.
The other two guards were aiming their weapons at the two agents, trying to get a clear shot. With all their attention on their comrade’s fight with the woman, they never saw the two agents slip up behind them. The agents made quick work of the two guards, dispatching them with knives they’d brought in sheaths attached to their utility belts.
Emily grappled with the guard. He was a slender man, but had a functional strength in spades. He tried to grab her hair and yank her head back, but her fist found his throat and sent him staggering backward. His fight wasn’t over yet, though, as he lurched forward again, trying his luck with a roundhouse kick at her chest. In one swift movement, Emily ducked the kick, withdrew her own knife, and spun around, thrusting the blade deep into the man’s chest. She twisted the blade slightly then withdrew it, standing in a ready position for another attack in case the knife hadn’t done the job.
The man stumbled back for a few seconds, grasping at the bloody wound before falling over sideways in a heap.
Gun reports continued popping from the right side of the warehouse. Emily picked up her gun off the floor and joined the two male agents whose faces were still in shock at what they’d just seen.
“How’d you think I got to be director of the agency, boys?” she said coolly, stalking past them and taking up a shooting position in the middle of the room.
They gave each other a quick glance and then joined her behind a row of crates. They leveled their weapons on top of the boxes and started firing. Their targets never had a chance. The first two caught rounds in the neck and side, the third spun around only to take several bullets to the abdomen and chest. The last man collapsed onto one of the others and the room fell into an eerie silence.
“Clear,” Emily called out.
The two men with her fanned out and checked the back corners of the room, making sure it was completely empty. Two twenty-foot red shipping containers were sitting next to each other near the wall, but other than that, they didn’t see anything worth reporting.
Bluish smoke hung in the air like a thin cloud that wouldn’t blow away, keeping the acrid scent of gunpowder lingering. The two female agents rejoined the group, replacing the empty magazines with fresh ones just in case. One of the women had caught a round in the arm, just grazing her bicep. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the wound through the rip in her black sleeve.
“You okay?” Emily asked with genuine concern. She cared about all of her agents, more than she probably should for someone in her position. A good rule was never to get personal. She couldn’t help it.
“I’ll be all right. Just a scratch.” The girl blew it off and pulled the sleeve up a little to slow the bleeding.
They looked around the room, suddenly confused.
“Where are the girls?” the guy from Brooklyn asked. “Aren’t they supposed to be in here?”
Emily noticed the shipping containers at the end of the room and started walking toward them. The other four followed, realizing where she believed the girls might be.
She reached the first container and saw the padlock on the door clasp. There was an identical one on the other box as well. “Get these open,” she motioned with her gun.
The two men pulled out lock-picking tools and went to work while Emily continued to scan the room. The alarm was still going off outside, and it needed to be shut down. “Shut that thing off,” she said to the brunette.
The woman gave a nod and took off, searching for a breaker box. She found it over near the middle of the room and flipped all the switches except the ones marked as warehouse lights. The alarm gave a final whine before falling silent. The agent closest to her was working on the container lock and got it open, as did the second agent soon after.
They unhooked the locks and let them drop to the floor with a clank, then pulled up the metal latch and swung open the doors. Inside the shipping containers was dark, but the light from the warehouse bulbs above cast just enough illumination into the shadows for the agents to see inside.
In the first container were dozens of boxes. They’d been marked with Chinese characters and a few words in English that suggested the contents were extremely fragile.
The agents passed over the first and stood around the open door of the second container, staring inside with grim smiles. Six young women huddled on the floor at the far end of the giant metal box, all in their underwear, and shivering from the cold. One of them, a dark-haired girl with olive skin stood up and stepped forward. It was the agent Dufort had taken prisoner. The young woman reached the edge of the darkness and paused. She leaned forward and hugged Emily as hard as she could. Emily wrapped her arm around the girl’s lower back.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now,” she said calmly. “You’re all going to be okay.”
The other agents entered the shipping container and helped the girls, one by one. Their faces were pale, their eyes sallow from being stuck in the dark for so long.
Outside, police sirens inched closer down the city streets. Emily wasn’t concerned about the local authorities now. Many of them were probably involved with the sick business she’d just exposed. Now the international community would know about it, and heads would roll.
She pulled out her phone and dialed a number only a handful of people on the planet possessed. The answer came after only two rings.
“President Dawkins. Is everything all right, Emily?”
She stared at the young women for a moment and swallowed back her emotions. “It is now, Mr. President.”
Chapter 40
The sculpture of Holger Danske was impressive. Standing over six feet high and three to four feet wide, the image of the sleeping hero was a massive tribute. Originally, the sculpture created by Hans Peder Pedersen-Dan in 1907 was made out of plaster, but was replaced in 1985 by one made of concrete since the plaster one had been damaged by moisture. In spite of the piece not being the original artwork, it was still something to behold.
Sean stared at the sleeping Viking on his throne, now illuminated by electric lamps that poured an orange-cream glow onto his countenance. A round shield with Nordic symbols adorning it rested against one of the huge legs, the traditional sword he would have used lay across both thighs. Holger’s helmeted head bowed permanently forward, his long flowing locks of hair trickling off his shoulders to mingle with his thick beard. Holger’s arms wrapped across his chest, his hands tucked under the biceps.
“What are you looking for here?” Dufort asked as the group huddled around the sculpture.
Adriana stood close to him, a wild fire springing from her eyes. Sean could tell she was beginning to think crazy thoughts, like bending down and pulling out her weapon and then killing every last one of the men holding them captive.
He knew she’d never get past her own kneecaps before they iced her though. He passed her a subtle glance and shake of the head that begged her to be patient.