Chapter 12 - The Asphalt War
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, flooding the low-lying intersections of downtown New Orleans with swirling brown water.
A pair of matte-black Delacroix interceptor SUVs surged away from the Cabildo loading dock, their emergency sirens cutting through the maritime gloom.
Inside the lead vehicle, Julian gripped the dashboard with one gloved hand while typing encryption codes into a satellite communicator with the other.
"All marine units report," Julian ordered into the tactical radio.
"Clear the lower canal locks immediately and open the floodgates toward the Garden District intake."
"We need maximum water pressure to back-flush the primary pipeline before the chemical valve opens."
Camille sat in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on a ruggedized laptop displaying the schematic layout of the Garden District estate's subterranean plumbing.
"Preston wouldn't have used the main valve," Camille murmured, tracing her finger across a blue digital line on the screen.
"He lacks the technical precision to bypass the digital lock."
"He would have used the manual emergency bypass hatch located behind the old lemon groves."
"Which means he had help," Julian added grimly.
"Marcus Vance’s chief engineer was seen entering the estate grounds yesterday under the guise of utility maintenance."
Suddenly, the rear bulletproof window of their SUV exploded inward in a shower of glittering fragments.
The sharp crack of a high-powered sniper rifle echoed from the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse across the wet boulevard.
A second bullet struck the armored door panel, leaving a deep, smoking indentation in the titanium plating.
"Vance’s remaining mercenaries," the driver shouted, banking the heavy vehicle hard to the left to avoid a barricade of overturned trash bins.
"They're trying to trap us on Magazine Street!"
Julian did not flinch.
He reached into his waistcoat, drew his pearl-handled revolver, and calmly lowered the bulletproof side window three inches.
"Keep driving, Miller," Julian instructed the driver without raising his voice.
Julian leaned half his torso out of the broken window into the driving rain.
He raised the revolver, sighted through the sheets of water, and fired three rapid shots toward a dark figure crouched atop a brick fire escape.
A muffled cry pierced the wind as the sniper tumbled backward off the iron railing, disappearing into the alley below.
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"Punch it," Julian commanded, pulling himself back inside the cabin and calmly reloading his cylinder.
The SUV roared forward, smashing through a wooden construction fence and plunging directly onto the mud-slicked service road leading to the Garden District.
