The Lethal Heiress: Too Late For Regret

The rain did not fall. It crashed.

Thick sheets of water slammed into the mud of Grey Iron Delta's Area 21 training grounds. The temperature hovered just above freezing. The Atlantic wind whipped across the open field, carrying the smell of salt and wet dirt.

Ashlee Maddox stood on the elevated steel platform. She wore a black tactical raincoat. The hood was down. The rain soaked her dark hair, plastering it to her skull. She did not blink. Her eyes tracked the thirty recruits crawling through the mud pit below.

A deafening siren ripped through the storm.

It was not the standard drill alarm. It was the Level Red breach siren. The sound vibrated in Ashlee's chest cavity. Red strobe lights flared to life across the perimeter walls, cutting through the darkness.

Down in the mud, panic hit the recruits.

Billy Ray Sutkowski, a twenty-year-old kid from Texas, scrambled to his feet. He lost his footing in the slick mud. His knees hit the ground hard. He gasped for air, his chest heaving. He looked around wildly, his eyes wide with raw terror.

Ashlee looked down at him. Her jaw tightened.

She held a heavy, military-issue ceramic mug in her right hand. The coffee inside was scalding hot. Her fingers flexed. She squeezed the mug.

The ceramic shattered.

A loud crack echoed on the platform. Boiling coffee spilled over her Kevlar-reinforced gloves. Sharp pieces of ceramic dug into the tough fabric. She did not flinch. She did not look at her hand.

She dropped the broken pieces. She reached for her right thigh.

Her hand wrapped around the grip of her custom .45 caliber pistol. She pulled it from the holster in one fluid motion. She pointed the barrel straight up into the black sky.

She pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was a physical blow to the air. It was louder than the thunder. The massive sound rolled over the training ground.

Every recruit froze. Billy Ray stopped hyperventilating. He stared up at the platform. The panic drained from the field, replaced by absolute stillness.

Ashlee lowered the gun.

Static crackled in her earpiece. Gus Schmidt's voice came through. He sounded out of breath.

"Mamba. We have a breach."

Ashlee pressed two fingers to her earpiece. "Location."

"The underground vault," Gus said. "Sector B."

Ashlee's stomach dropped. The coldness spread from her chest to her fingertips.

She didn't use the stairs. She holstered her weapon, stepped up to the metal railing, and kicked it. The gate swung open. She stepped off the edge of the two-meter platform.

She landed in the mud. Her heavy combat boots sank two inches into the dirt. Mud splashed up her tactical pants. She absorbed the impact with her knees and immediately broke into a sprint.

She moved toward the armory. Her strides were long and even.

"Status of the intruders," Ashlee demanded into the comms.

"Highly professional," Gus replied. His voice shook slightly. "They cut the thermal imaging in Sector B three minutes ago. We didn't even see them come in."

Ashlee reached the heavy steel door of the armory. She shoved it open with her shoulder. The smell of gun oil and cold metal hit her face.

She walked past the standard assault rifles. She went straight to the heavy weapons rack at the back.

She grabbed the modified Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle. It weighed over thirty pounds. She lifted it with one hand. The cold steel pressed against her palm.

She grabbed two specialized armor-piercing magazines from the shelf. She shoved them into the deep pockets of her tactical vest.

She turned and ran out of the armory. She headed for the East Watchtower. It was the highest point in the base. It offered a clear view of the cliffs dropping into the ocean.

The wind fought her as she reached the base of the tower. The metal stairs were slick with rain.

Ashlee grabbed the handrail. She pulled herself up. Her thigh muscles burned with every step. She climbed the five flights of stairs in under thirty seconds. Her breathing remained steady.

She reached the top observation deck. It was enclosed in thick glass.

She didn't look for the latch. She raised her heavy boot and kicked the center of the glass pane.

The glass shattered outward.

The storm rushed into the small room. Wind and rain hit her face like tiny needles. She ignored it.

She dropped to one knee. She slammed the bipod of the Barrett onto the window ledge. She pulled the charging handle back. The heavy round clicked into the chamber.

She pressed her right eye against the scope.

She scanned the edge of the cliff. The rain blurred the lens. She wiped it with her thumb. She looked again.

There.

A black shadow moved against the dark rocks. The person wore a full-body thermal-blocking wetsuit. They moved low to the ground. Their movements were incredibly fast and efficient. No wasted energy.

They were heading for the edge of the cliff. A speedboat waited in the rough water below.

Ashlee reached for the windage knob on the scope. Her fingers were wet and cold. She turned the dial two clicks to the left. She calculated the crosswind coming off the ocean. She calculated the drop for the heavy rain.

The shadow reached the edge of the cliff. The person stood up, preparing to dive.

Ashlee inhaled slowly. She held the breath in her lungs. Her heartbeat slowed down. The crosshairs rested on the center of the shadow's back.

Her index finger squeezed the trigger.

The rifle fired.

The recoil slammed into her right shoulder like a sledgehammer. The pain radiated down her collarbone. She kept her eye on the scope.

Through the lens, she saw the impact.

A mist of dark blood exploded from the right side of the shadow's back. The kinetic energy of the heavy round threw the person forward. Their diving form broke.

The shadow lost all balance. They fell over the edge of the cliff, tumbling awkwardly into the violent waves of the Atlantic.

Ashlee keyed her mic.

"Target is down. Fell from the east cliff. Deploy the patrol boats. Lock down the grid. I want that body pulled from the water now."

She didn't wait for an answer. She pulled the rifle back, ejected the magazine, and left it on the floor.

She ran back down the stairs. She headed straight for the underground vault in Sector B.

The fluorescent lights in the corridor flickered. Ashlee turned the corner.

Two elite guards lay on the floor outside the vault door. Blood pooled around their heads. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the sharp scent of ozone.

Ashlee stepped over the bodies. She didn't check their pulses. They were dead. One shot each to the base of the skull.

She walked into the vault.

The massive central safe stood in the middle of the room. A perfect circle had been cut out of the thick steel door. The edges of the metal were still glowing red from a high-energy laser cutter.

Gus stood next to the safe. He held a tablet in his hands. His face was completely pale. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He looked up at Ashlee. He swallowed hard.

"Mamba," Gus said. His voice was a whisper. "It's gone."

Ashlee walked up to the safe. She looked through the hole. The interior shelf was empty.

"Confirm it," Ashlee said. Her voice was flat.

Gus looked down at his tablet. His fingers shook. "The SSS-class black file. Code 531. It's missing."

Ashlee stared at the empty space. Her jaw tightened. Her right index finger twitched against her thigh.