The Vanishing Virtuoso

Chapter 11: The Old Mill

The truck rumbled to a halt in the dimly lit parking lot of the old mill. The ancient building stood as a monolithic shadow against the city skyline, its windows darkened and broken. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of oil and rust.

Mercer killed the engine and turned to Grange, his expression serious. "Alright, we're here. What's the plan?"

Grange scanned the building, her eyes sharp and calculating. "We need to assess the entrances. There's a good chance they have lookouts or traps set up. We'll need to split up, cover more ground."

Mercer nodded, retrieving a flashlight from the glove compartment. "I'll take the south side. See if there's a way in through the loading docks. You check the north."

Grange handed Mercer a small piece of paper with a list of codes. "Use these signals with your flashlight. One-two means there are guards. Two-one-one means a guard is on patrol, watch out. Three-two-one means all clear."

Mercer memorized the codes and nodded. "Got it. One-two for guards, two-one-one for patrol, three-two-one for all clear."

They both stepped out of the truck, the gravel crunching softly underfoot. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. Moving with practiced stealth, Mercer and Grange split up, each taking a different path towards the mill.

Mercer crouched low as he approached the south side. The loading docks were cluttered with old machinery and debris, perfect cover for anyone lying in wait. He peered through the shadows, scanning for any signs of movement. A flicker of light caught his eye—a cigarette ember glowing faintly in the darkness. He counted two figures, armed and alert, patrolling the area.

Mercer carefully reached into his pocket, gripping the flashlight. He pointed it toward the ground and signaled: one-two.

From across the lot, he saw Grange's faint response: three-two-one. All clear on her side.

With his flashlight back in his pocket, Mercer focused on the guards. He needed to take them out quietly. Moving swiftly, he crept closer, using the cover of the machinery to mask his approach. When he was within striking distance, he picked up a loose pipe from the ground.

With calculated precision, he swung the pipe at the first guard, striking him in the back of the head. The guard crumpled without a sound. Mercer caught the second guard's attention just as he turned, but it was too late. A swift punch to the throat and a knee to the gut left the guard gasping for air, collapsing in a heap.

Mercer signaled again with his flashlight: three-two-one.

Grange responded promptly with the same signal, indicating she had found an entrance. Mercer made his way toward the west side where Grange had indicated the fire escape. He climbed up to meet her on the second floor. The floor was dark, the only light coming from the gaps in the boarded-up windows. They moved silently through the narrow corridors, their senses heightened.

As they neared the center of the building, faint voices reached their ears. Grange signaled for Mercer to stop. They pressed against the wall, listening intently.

"We need to keep an eye out. Julian Carver and his friends have been sniffing around," a gruff voice said. "The boss isn't happy."

Mercer and Grange exchanged a glance. They had found their target.

Moving cautiously, they edged closer to the source of the voices. Peering around a corner, they saw a makeshift office constructed from old shipping containers. Inside, papers and maps were spread out on a table, and two men were discussing their plans in hushed tones.

Grange nodded to Mercer, signaling their approach. They needed to act fast and decisively. Mercer drew his gun, aiming carefully, while Grange prepared to flank the guards.