Chapter 13 - The Ghost in the Gallery
The concussive crack of Roman’s elbow striking Arthur Vance’s larynx echoed across the terrace.
Arthur stumbled backward, clutching his throat and gagging for oxygen.
Before the twelve tactical agents could adjust their aim, the glass skylight above the veranda exploded in a shower of heavy shards.
A black silhouette dropped through the falling glass, suspended by a high-tensile climbing harness.
Julian Vale swung through the air like an avenging fury.
In his hands were two fully automatic subcompact machine pistols.
Julian opened fire before his boots even touched the limestone tiles.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the gray morning mist in violent, strobe-like bursts.
Four federal agents dropped instantly, their armor taking the brunt of non-lethal heavy ceramic slugs that knocked the wind from their lungs.
Julian severed his harness line with a flick of his wrist and landed in a low crouch between Roman and Eleanor.
The scars across his burned cheek were flushed bright crimson with adrenaline.
"Did you miss me, Mother?" Julian yelled over the roar of gunfire.
Eleanor shrieked, dropping her porcelain teacup as it shattered on the stones.
"You're dead!" Eleanor screamed, scrambling out of her iron chair.
"You were buried at sea!"
"I learned how to swim, Mother!" Julian snarled, firing a suppressing burst over the heads of the tactical detail.
Marcus Vance threw his heavy frame into the nearest operative, driving him over the terrace balustrade into the rose bushes six feet below.
Claire did not hesitate for a fraction of a second.
She grabbed Sarah by the collar, shoving her behind the heavy stone pillar of the conservatory arch.
Then Claire lunged toward Arthur Vance, who was trying to draw his sidearm from beneath his trench coat.
Claire’s ceramic knife slashed through the leather strap of his shoulder holster, severing the retention clip.
She drove her knee upward into his solar plexus with the mechanical force of a trained martial artist.
Arthur collapsed onto his knees, wheezing, blood trickling from his split lip.
Claire caught his falling service weapon mid-air, racked the slide against her hip, and leveled the barrel at Arthur's temple.
"Do not twitch, Agent Vance," Claire whispered, her voice steady as granite.
"Or your career ends right here on this porch."
Across the lawn, sirens began to scream from the private road beyond the woods.
These were not the low hums of unmarked tactical vans.
These were the high-pitched, multi-toned sirens of the Massachusetts State Police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Six blue-and-white cruisers burst through the shattered iron remains of the East Gate.
Behind them came three heavy tactical trucks carrying the markings of the Department of Justice Special Investigations Division.
Julian lowered his weapons, a dark, triumphant grin spreading across his scarred face.
"Who do you think I called from that boat, Roman?" Julian yelled over the approaching sirens.
Roman stood beside his brother, his shotgun still smoking.
"You didn't go to Europe."
"Hell no, I didn't go to Europe!" Julian laughed, coughing slightly from the gunpowder smoke.
"The Coast Guard boat was set on an automated GPS course toward the three-mile limit."
"I jumped off the starboard side fifty yards out and swam right back to the lighthouse."
Julian pulled an encrypted satchel from his tactical vest and threw it at Roman’s feet.
"The real Department of Justice has been building a RICO indictment against Arthur Vance's division for eighteen months."
"They just needed physical evidence that Arthur was acting as the enforcement arm for the Limassol syndicate."
"And Mother just gave it to them on a silver platter."
Eleanor backed away from her two sons until her shoulders hit the stone wall of the manor.
Her silver hair had come undone, falling in wild strands across her wrinkled forehead.
Her black silk gown was smeared with wet soot.
"Julian... my darling boy..." Eleanor stammered, her hands trembling as she reached toward him.
"I did this for you."
"I did it so you wouldn't be second best to Roman!"
Julian looked at his mother with cold, bottomless disgust.
"You didn't do it for me, Eleanor."
"You did it because you couldn't stand that Father left the voting shares to the son who couldn't be bought."
From the grand French doors behind Eleanor, a sudden, desperate movement caught Roman's peripheral vision.
Harrison Reed appeared in the doorway.
His face was wild, his eyes dilated with absolute madness.
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In his right hand, he carried an antique ivory-handled revolver taken from the display case in the library.
"None of you are walking away from this!" Harrison screamed, pointing the revolver directly at Julian's chest.
