Chapter 9 - The Breach and the Nurse's Stand
The darkness inside The Redoubt was profound, broken only by the silver moonlight filtering through the high bay windows.
Down below the cliffs, the ocean roared with violent fury against the jagged granite boulders.
Damian drew his suppressed firearm in one fluid, mechanical movement, his senses heightening to razor sharpness.
"How many signatures breached the outer wall, Marco?" Damian whispered into the dark.
Marco checked his auxiliary handheld night-vision scanner, his voice tight with controlled adrenaline.
"At least eight armed targets, boss."
"They used underwater rebreathers to scale the sea cliff stairs directly from a coastal launch."
"They bypassed the main gate sensors completely."
"They are carrying military-grade thermal scopes and submachine guns."
"They are led by Leo Varga."
Damian’s jaw hardened at the mention of Varga's name.
Leo Varga was Anthony’s most sadistic personal executioner, a man who had served as the syndicate’s chief torturer for twenty-five years.
If Varga was here, Anthony had given specific orders to leave no survivors in the house except the baby.
"Marco, take the secondary security console in the wine cellar," Damian ordered with surgical precision.
"Seal the hydraulic fire doors between the east wing and the grand foyer."
"Funnel their assault team through the central portrait gallery where we have overlapping fields of fire."
"What about Claire and the child?" Marco asked, racking the bolt of his submachine gun.
"I am going to the master suite right now," Damian said, his eyes burning with lethal intent.
"No one breaches that bedroom door while I draw breath."
Damian moved through the darkened corridors of the estate with the absolute silence of a seasoned predator.
He reached the master suite on the first floor and pushed through the heavy reinforced door.
Claire was sitting upright in the bed, clutching her baby tightly against her chest with her eyes wide with terror.
She held a small silver revolver in her shaking hands, her finger resting securely against the trigger guard.
Beside her stood Margaret Hale, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in one hand and a twelve-inch bottle of industrial disinfectant in the other.
"Put the weapon down, Claire, it is me," Damian whispered, closing the door and throwing the interior deadbolt.
Claire let out a trembling breath, lowering the small firearm onto the mattress.
"Daniel taught me how to shoot before he was killed," Claire whispered, her voice surprisingly steady despite the horror.
"He said if the worst ever happened, I should save the last bullet for myself."
Damian walked over to the bedside, gently placing his hand over her cold fingers.
"You will not need that bullet tonight, Claire," Damian promised, his voice an anchor in the howling storm outside.
"Stay behind this reinforced headboard."
"Keep Daniel wrapped tight."
Suddenly, the heavy sound of shattering safety glass echoed from the east gallery down the hallway.
Muffled automatic gunfire erupted, punctuated by the sharp, rhythmic return fire of Marco’s suppressed submachine gun.
A man screamed in agonizing pain as Marco’s defensive traps snapped shut in the gallery.
Footsteps hurried down the hardwood floor of the private residential corridor outside the bedroom.
Heavy, disciplined, combat boots approached with terrifying speed.
"Two targets outside the door," Damian murmured, stepping to the side of the entrance where the wall offered reinforced brick backing.
He raised his weapon, aligning the barrel with the center of the heavy mahogany door panel.
The brass doorknob jiggled violently as an electronic bypass charge was slapped against the lock mechanism.
The door blew inward with a sharp, localized blast that sent wood splinters flying across the entryway.
A mercenary dressed in black tactical gear and a ballistic helmet surged through the smoke, raising an assault rifle.
Damian fired three consecutive rounds through the smoke with terrifying speed and surgical precision.
The mercenary collapsed instantly into the doorway, his weapon clattering harmlessly against the floorboards.
Before Damian could reposition his stance, a second mercenary kicked the falling body aside and lunged into the room.
The man tackled Damian with savage momentum, driving both of them against the heavy oak armoire.
Damian’s handgun was knocked from his grip, sliding across the polished floor toward the bed.
The mercenary drew a heavy combat blade from his tactical vest, driving the steel downward toward Damian’s throat with all his weight.
Damian caught the man’s wrists with both hands, muscles tearing as he fought against the lethal downward pressure of the blade.
The tip of the knife hovered barely two inches from Damian's jugular vein.
Suddenly, Margaret Hale lunged forward with a ferocious, guttural battle cry that defied her seventy-two years of age.
She slammed the pointed tip of the heavy iron fireplace poker directly into the mercenary’s unprotected kidney.
The man let out an explosive gasp of sheer shock and excruciating pain, his grip on the combat blade slipping.
Before he could recover, Margaret uncapped the heavy glass bottle of industrial disinfectant and hurled the caustic chemicals directly into his face.
The mercenary shrieked in agony as the concentrated acid blinded his eyes beneath his night-vision goggles.
Damian seized the opening instantly.
He twisted the man’s arm with bone-shattering force, ripped the combat knife from his failing fingers, and drove the hilt into his temple.
The mercenary went limp, crashing heavily onto the Persian rug beside the armoire.
Damian rose to his feet, breathing heavily, blood dripping from a minor laceration on his knuckles.
He looked over at Margaret Hale, who was leaning heavily against the iron poker, her chest heaving as she adjusted her spectacles.
"Good Lord," Margaret gasped, wiping sweat from her brow with her sleeve.
"I spent forty years delivering babies, but taking down home invaders is remarkably exhausting."
Damian looked at the elderly nurse with absolute, boundless astonishment.
"Nurse Hale," Damian said, picking up his fallen weapon.
"You are officially the most dangerous woman in North America."
Margaret offered him a tight, defiant smirk.
"Never underestimate an old woman who has survived three decades of hospital bureaucracy, Mister Russo."
A sudden, chilling voice echoed from the shattered doorway down the hallway.
"Damian! Call off your dog in the gallery!"
Leo Varga stepped into the dim light of the doorway, holding a bleeding shoulder where Marco had winged him.
He had thrown down his primary assault rifle and was holding a heavy satellite transmitter in his uninjured left hand.
Marco appeared behind Varga in the shadows, his submachine gun pressed directly against the base of Varga’s skull.
"Give me the word, boss, and I paint this hallway with his brains," Marco said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen.
Varga grimaced through the pain, glaring at Damian with venomous hatred.
"Kill me and you will never hear what the Old Man has planned for you at noon, Damian," Varga hissed.
Damian raised a hand, signaling Marco to hold his fire.
"Speak, Leo," Damian commanded, stepping out into the hallway with his weapon leveled at Varga's chest.
"Your father sent me with an ultimatum, not just a cleanup squad," Varga spat, dropping the satellite transmitter onto the floor.
"Anthony knows you broke the hospital cordon."
"He has positioned fifty heavily armed men at Pier 42 in the Brooklyn Navy Yard."
"He holds Daniel Bennett’s parents hostage in the administrative office of the terminal."
Claire let out a stifled sob from inside the bedroom, covering her mouth with her trembling palm.
"Daniel's parents..." she whispered in horror.
"They are seventy years old... they know nothing about any of this!"
Varga sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes toward the bedroom.
"Anthony does not care what they know, girl."
"If Damian does not bring Daniel’s son and the biometric codes to Pier 42 by twelve o'clock noon today, Anthony will execute Daniel's parents on live syndicate video."
"Then he will release doctored federal evidence framing Damian for Daniel's murder and the city blackout."
"You will be hunted by every federal marshal and mob hitman on the eastern seaboard until the end of your days."
Damian walked forward until the muzzle of his firearm was pressed flush against the bridge of Leo Varga's nose.
"You tell Anthony that I will be at Pier 42 at noon," Damian whispered with terrifying calmness.
May you like
"And tell him to bring a priest."
"Because only one Russo walks away from that pier alive."
