Chapter 10 - The Siege of the Sovereign
The lights inside Suite Fourteen flickered violently twice, then plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
A split second later, the dull amber glow of the emergency battery backup kicked in, casting long, eerie shadows across the cold steel walls.
The muffled sounds of suppressed automatic rifle fire and breaching charges reverberated through the solid concrete bedrock of the depository.
Leo didn't scream.
Instead, he scrambled instantly off his chair, ran toward me, and buried his face against my knees, clutching my trousers with white-knuckled desperation.
I scooped him into my arms, pressing his head against my chest, shielding his small body with my own.
Rico moved with lethal, instantaneous precision.
In one fluid motion, he pulled the heavy black ledger and the four encrypted USB drives from the lockbox, shoving them into the waterproof inner pocket of his heavy coat.
He drew two Glock pistols from beneath his armpits, his face transforming into an impenetrable mask of pure, focused warfare.
"Clara, get into the corner behind the steel support column," Rico commanded, his voice eerily calm despite the violence erupting outside.
"Keep your head down and cover Leo's ears."
"Rico, Dante said they have federal insignia!" I gasped, my heart pounding in my throat.
"Are we shooting at federal agents?"
"Real feds don't use suppressed submachine guns in a civilian Swiss vault without reading a warrant first," Rico spat coldly, racking the slide of both weapons.
"These are dirty contractors hired by Donna Rosa's Commission of Five."
"They know what's in this box."
"They're here to clean up the paper trail, kill the witnesses, and ensure that ledger never reaches a legitimate court."
The heavy steel-reinforced oak door of Suite Fourteen rattled under a massive concussive blow.
Boom!
A shaped breaching charge blew the heavy brass deadbolts completely out of the frame in a shower of sparks and splintered wood.
The heavy door swung outward, revealing a cloud of white smoke and two heavily armed men clad in unmarked black tactical gear, Kevlar helmets, and night-vision goggles.
Before the first contractor could even clear the doorway with his tactical carbine, Rico stepped into the opening.
His right hand rose with terrifying speed.
Crack! Crack!
Two precise rounds tore through the neck and visor of the lead shooter, dropping him instantly into the smoke.
The second contractor raised his weapon to return fire, but Rico closed the distance in a single explosive lunge.
Rico seized the barrel of the contractor's rifle, shoving it toward the ceiling just as a three-round burst chewed into the concrete plaster above our heads.
With his left hand, Rico drove the butt of his heavy pistol straight into the contractor's throat, following through with a brutal knee strike that cracked the man's ribs through his armor.
The man crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, but Rico didn't give him a second chance.
A single suppressed round ended the threat.
Rico stepped back into the suite, his chest heaving, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled corridor outside.
"Dante! What's your status?" Rico barked into his radio.
Static crackled through the earpiece, followed by Dante's strained, bleeding voice:
"Boss... we held the elevator lobby... took down five of them, but they brought heavy suppressive fire."
"The depository master, Laurent... he's gone, boss. They executed him in the corridor."
"There's an emergency service chute behind vault thirty-six that leads straight to the subterranean subway tunnels beneath Wall Street."
"I'm at the junction holding the rear."
"Move now, Rico!"
Rico turned toward me.
"We have to run, Clara," he said, reaching out to take Leo from my arms.
"Can you handle the Glock?"
I picked up the discarded pistol from the fallen contractor's holster, checked the magazine, and flicked the safety off with practiced efficiency.
"Lead the way," I said firmly, refusing to let my terror dictate my actions.
Rico tucked Leo securely under his left arm, holding his pistol ready in his right, and led us out into the smoke-choked corridor of the depository.
The marble hallway was a scene of utter carnage.
Shattered glass, spent shell casings, and tactical flashlights were scattered across the floor among fallen bodies.
Sirens wailed in the distance, but the sound was muffled by thirty feet of granite and reinforced steel.
We sprinted down the corridor toward vault thirty-six, the smell of cordite and burning electrical wires growing stronger with every step.
Suddenly, two more contractors rounded the corner ahead of us, their laser sights cutting through the smoke.
Before Rico could swing his weapon, I raised the heavy tactical pistol with both hands, steadying my breath just as my father had taught me years ago.
I squeezed the trigger twice.
The heavy rounds caught the lead contractor in the chest, the kinetic force knocking him backward onto his companion.
Rico immediately capitalized on the opening, firing three rapid shots that neutralized both men in a heartbeat.
Rico glanced back at me, a fierce, blazing pride lighting up his dark eyes.
"Good girl," he growled.
"Move!"
We reached vault thirty-six.
Dante was slumped against the wall, clutching a bloody shoulder wound, his tactical vest torn to shreds, but his weapon remained trained on the corridor behind us.
"Took you long enough, boss," Dante groaned through clenched teeth.
"Here's the chute."
Dante kicked open a heavy cast-iron maintenance hatch in the floor, revealing a steep, spiraling metal staircase leading down into the dark, roaring abyss of the New York City subway tunnels.
The cold, electric wind from the underground tracks rushed upward, carrying the distinct scent of ozone and wet steel.
"Go first, Clara," Rico ordered, handing Leo down to me.
"Dante and I will cover the rear."
I took Leo, clutching him tightly against my chest, and scrambled down the narrow metal staircase into the darkness below.
Behind us, Rico and Dante followed, sealing the heavy iron hatch shut with a solid iron locking bar just as another barrage of rifle fire slammed against the outer steel.
We hit the gravel ballast of the subway tunnel floor.
Thirty yards to our left, the twin glowing headlights of an inbound downtown express train cut through the subterranean gloom, its horn blaring with a deafening, metallic shriek.
"Run!" Rico shouted over the roar of the oncoming train.
We sprinted along the narrow maintenance catwalk between the concrete wall and the speeding train, the wind tearing at our clothes, the deafening thunder of steel wheels vibrating through our very bones.
Leo buried his face into my shoulder, his small hands clutching my hair, trusting me completely to carry him through the storm.
We pushed through an emergency exit door at the end of the catwalk, scrambling up a rusted set of iron stairs that led straight into the bright, freezing daylight of a back alley behind Church Street.
The biting autumn air hit our faces like a slap of ice.
Sirens were wailing across lower Manhattan as dozens of police cruisers rushed toward Wall Street, unaware of the shadow war that had just played out beneath their feet.
Dante leaned against the brick wall of the alley, his breath coming in ragged, painful wheezes as blood soaked through his fingers.
"We can't go back to the estate, Rico," Dante gasped, coughing weakly.
"If Donna Rosa activated the Commission, they've already got state troopers watching the bridges and the tunnels into Brooklyn."
"They've probably flagged your face on every law enforcement database in the tristate area."
Rico looked at the black ledger tucked inside his coat, then at his bleeding enforcer, and finally at Leo and me, shivering in the freezing wind.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, smashed the SIM card beneath the heel of his boot, and threw the broken pieces into a storm drain.
"We don't go back to Brooklyn," Rico said, his voice cold, steady, and lethal.
"Where do we go?" I asked, pulling Leo's knitted cap down over his cold ears.
Rico looked at me, a dark, dangerous resolve settling into the lines of his rugged face.
May you like
"We go to the one place in New York where Donna Rosa and her dirty judges have no jurisdiction," Rico answered.
"The United States Attorney's Office at Foley Square."
