Police barricades transformed Cross Enterprises plaza into war zone, helicopters circling like vultures, SWAT teams positioned behind vehicles that wouldn't stop bullets if situation escalated into firefight.Forty-seven employees trapped inside building that had been workplace this morning and was prison now. Twelve armed mercenaries controlled every floor with military precision that suggested training beyond what money alone could buy.And Marcus Volkov owned all of it—the building, the hostages, the narrative that was being broadcast live to millions of viewers watching terrorism unfold in real time.Ethan stared at monitors showing faces he recognized with sickening intimacy. Jennifer from accounting, three kids at home. David from legal, wife pregnant with their first. Sarah the intern, twenty-two years old with whole life ahead of her that might end in next nine minutes.Marcus Reed appeared beside him with tablet showing tactical assessment that was clinical in its brutality.

The walk through maximum security felt like descending into hell in increments.Each checkpoint brought Lily deeper into concrete maze where human monsters lived in cages designed to contain violence that couldn't be rehabilitated, only contained. Guards watched her with expressions mixing boredom and curiosity—civilians didn't visit Carla Mendez unless they were desperate or stupid.Lily qualified as both.The interrogation room smelled like industrial cleaner trying unsuccessfully to mask decades of fear-sweat and desperation. Metal table bolted to floor. Chairs that couldn't be weaponized. Camera in corner recording everything for posterity or liability—whichever came first.Carla Mendez sat waiting with patience of predator who knew prey was already committed to entering trap.Her face was roadmap of violence survived—scars cutting through eyebrow, across jaw, down neck disappearing under orange jumpsuit. Hands were calloused and brutal despite years away from work that had earned

The hospital exploded into violence from four directions simultaneously.Ghost Protocol moved with precision that came from years executing operations where hesitation meant body bags. They breached through shattered windows, through rusted service entrances, through roof access that Ryan's mercenaries hadn't bothered securing because arrogance made men sloppy.Ryan's people had positioned for frontal assault—all firepower concentrated at main entrance where they expected desperate rescue attempt by grieving widow who didn't know better.They were outflanked before first shot was fired.Gunfire erupted through corridors that had once echoed with screams of different kind. Mercenaries scrambled for cover that didn't exist, realizing too late they were fighting professionals who'd perfected killing in places worse than abandoned psych ward.Lily moved through chaos with Harrison's team, weapon in hands that had learned to hold more than presentations and coffee cups. She'd trained for t

Memories Ethan had buried for decades clawed their way to surface like corpses refusing to stay drowned.He sat in his study surrounded by files Marcus had compiled, but the documents weren't revealing anything his eight-year-old self hadn't already known instinctively—Aunt Patricia was poison wrapped in elegance, cruelty disguised as sophistication.The photographs showed woman who could've been his mother's twin if twins could be separated by light and darkness. Same bone structure. Same eyes that his mother had used to convey warmth but Patricia wielded like weapons."She was brilliant." Ethan's voice carried weight of childhood fear resurfacing. "Spoke six languages. Had degrees from Oxford and Sorbonne. But she was also ruthless in ways that made adults uncomfortable around her."Lily sat across from him, reading through psychiatric evaluation from Patricia's adolescence that Marcus had somehow acquired. "Diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder at sixteen. Recommendation

Trust died in conference room that had witnessed strategic victories and now hosted funeral for certainty itself.Ghost Protocol's top operatives sat around table looking at each other with suspicion that poisoned every glance, every gesture, every breath taken in space that suddenly felt claustrophobic despite size.Ethan stood at head of table like judge presiding over trial where everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. "Someone in this room betrayed us. Gave Patricia everything she needed to position Sophie's kidnapping. And until we find them, no one is above suspicion."Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, we've worked together for—""Ten years. I know." Ethan's voice was surgical precision cutting through loyalty. "Which is exactly why you're suspect. You were captured too easily at the hospital. Beatings looked authentic but what if they were theater? What if Patricia needed you positioned as victim to deflect suspicion?"The accusation landed like grenade in center of table