Chapter 5 - The Fire and the Narrow Escape
The crack of high-caliber rifle fire tore through the flimsy motel room like thunderclaps.
Drywall erupted into blinding white dust as three separate shooters opened fire from the tree line across the road.
Wood splinters and shattered glass rained down upon Roman and Claire as they lay pinned beneath an overturned mattress.
David Mercer screamed in agony as a ricocheting round grazed his thigh.
"Marcus, suppress the tree line!" Roman shouted over the deafening roar of automatic gunfire.
Marcus dropped to one knee behind the bathroom doorframe, leaning out to fire controlled three-round bursts.
The suppressed snaps of Marcus’s rifle were drowned out by the heavy boom of the attackers’ hunting rifles.
One of Roman’s men at the door collapsed backward, clutching a catastrophic wound to his neck.
The second guard dragged his dying comrade out onto the concrete walkway, returning fire with an Uzi.
Claire was curled into a ball beneath Roman’s heavy frame, her hands clamped over her ears.
She was shaking violently, but she was not screaming.
Her eyes were wide open, staring at the pool of blood spreading from Mercer’s leg across the worn carpet.
"Claire, look at me," Roman commanded, his voice cutting through the ringing in her ears.
She forced her gaze to meet his.
"We have about forty seconds before they flank the stairs," Roman said, his breath hot against her temple.
"Can you crawl to Mercer and cut those zip ties?"
Roman pulled a serrated folding knife from his tactical belt and slapped the hilt into her palm.
"Yes," she gasped, her knuckles tightening around the rubberized grip.
"Go now!" Roman ordered, rolling off her and popping up to fire four rounds through the shattered window.
His bullets found a silhouette in the trees, and a muffled scream echoed across the dark highway.
Claire crawled on her elbows across the broken glass, ignoring the sharp bites into her palms and knees.
She reached Mercer’s chair, her hands slick with sweat as she jammed the serrated blade against the nylon bindings.
"Hold still, David!" she cried as the nylon threads snapped one by one.
Mercer groaned in pain, his breathing ragged.
"Claire... you have to leave me," the old man wheezed.
"The flash drive... it has the biometric encryption keys."
"It opens the underground vault at the old foundry."
"Your father’s original trust documents are inside."
"Shut up and move your feet!" Claire yelled, cutting the final binding around his ankles.
A heavy metallic object was suddenly thrown through the front window, rolling across the floorboards.
It was an incendiary grenade, spitting white-hot chemical sparks.
"Out! Out the back window now!" Roman bellowed, grabbing Mercer by his belt and hauling him toward the bathroom.
Marcus kicked out the frosted glass frame of the narrow bathroom window that led to the rear service alley.
The incendiary grenade detonated with a deafening roar, filling Room 214 with a blinding wall of orange flame.
The wooden walls ignited instantly, black toxic smoke billowing toward the ceiling.
Marcus scrambled through the window first, dropping eight feet into the muddy alley below.
"Hand him to me!" Marcus yelled from below.
Roman shoved the dazed accountant through the opening, and Marcus caught him by the shoulders.
"Claire, your turn," Roman said, turning to grab her waist.
She didn't hesitate.
She swung her legs over the sill and dropped into the mud just as the fire swept across the bed frame.
Roman vaulted through the window a split second before the roof caved in with a shower of burning timber.
He hit the wet gravel, rolled to absorb the impact, and came up with his pistol drawn.
In the alley, their secondary driver had already brought the backup SUV around the corner, its doors flung open.
Automatic fire was still chewing through the front of the motel, but the hit team hadn't realized their targets had escaped out the rear.
Marcus shoved Mercer into the rear seat, and Claire scrambled in right behind him.
Roman dove into the passenger seat as bullets began pinging off the reinforced steel tailgate.
"Go! Hit the access road toward the river!" Roman barked at the driver.
The SUV lunged forward, churning up mud and gravel, and accelerated into the pitch-black secondary road.
In the back seat, Claire immediately pulled off her wool scarf and tied it tightly around Mercer’s bleeding thigh to staunch the flow.
Her hands were covered in soot, motor oil, and blood, but her movements were steady and focused.
Mercer leaned back against the leather headrest, gasping for air as the adrenaline began to fade.
Roman turned around in his seat, looking at the broken accountant.
"You said my father built an army," Roman demanded, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury.
"Who is leading that army right now, Mercer?"
"Who is wearing his ring?"
Mercer looked at Roman with sorrowful, haunted eyes.
"It's not your father who survived, Roman," Mercer whispered.
"Your father died in that fire three years ago."
"The man wearing the ring is the man who ordered his car off the road."
"The man who took Isabella to force you out of the city so he could take your seat on the Council."
"Who?" Roman asked, his knuckles turning dead white on the armrest.
Mercer swallowed hard, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.
May you like
"Your uncle," Mercer said.
"Silvio DeLuca."
