Chapter 6 - The Basement Below
Daniel collapsed into the mud with a howl of agony as his shattered knee gave way beneath him. Cole immediately dropped his full weight onto Daniel's back, driving his wrists behind his spine and clicking a pair of steel handcuffs tightly around his joints.
"Daniel Mercer," Cole growled, his voice raw from the flashbang shock, "you are under arrest for attempted murder of a police officer, domestic terrorism, and kidnapping."
I lay on my back in the gravel, gasping for air, clutching my throat as the cold rain washed the dirt from my face.
Sirens were screaming now—real, loud, unobstructed sirens turning the corner onto Maple Drive from three different directions. Heavy boots were pounding down the gravel alley as the primary SWAT entry team rounded the corner of my garage, weapons raised, tactical lights cutting through the rainy dusk.
"CLEAR!" Cole shouted, holding up one hand while keeping his foot planted on Daniel's shoulder. "Suspect down! I need a medical unit at the rear alley access!"
Two tactical officers dropped to their knees beside Cole, taking control of Daniel, while a third officer helped me sit up against the fence.
"Mrs. Mercer, are you hit?" the officer asked, shining a small penlight into my eyes.
"No... no, I'm okay," I choked out, pointing a trembling hand toward the open cellar hatch. "The basement... the sweater... he put something inside the storage locker."
The officer looked at Cole, then signaled two members of the entry team. "Check the cellar. EOD protocol. Watch for secondary lines."
"Wait," I said, struggling to my feet despite my bruised chest and aching limbs. "I'm going down there."
"Ma'am, it's not safe—"
"It's my house," I interrupted, my voice leaving no room for argument. "And my daughter's sweater is down there."
Officer Cole wiped mud from his cheek and offered me a steady arm. "I'll go with her. Keep the suspect secured."
We descended the narrow, damp concrete stairs into the dark basement. The air smelled of ozone, burnt wiring, and wet dust.
The digital timer strapped to the steel locker had gone completely dark when I severed the main power line outside. The blue light of the GPS jammer was extinguished.
Sitting on top of the locker, untouched by the chaos, was the dark navy wool sweater.
I stepped forward, my hands shaking as I picked it up. Tucked beneath the soft wool was not an explosive device or a bomb—it was a thick, brown legal accordion folder, sealed with heavy red tape.
May you like
On the front of the folder, written in Daniel's neat, precise handwriting, were three words:
THE MERCER ASSETS.
