Chapter 11 - The Road To Bucks County
The rain turned to sleet as the convoy pushed north along Route 32, following the serpentine curves of the Delaware River.
Four black heavy-duty pickups and an armored transport rolled in a blackout formation, their auxiliary infrared markers invisible to the naked eye.
Inside the command truck, the hum of the engine was the only sound breaking the heavy silence.
Vincent Romano sat in the front passenger seat, cleaning the carbon fouling from the bolt of his Sig Sauer with a dry white cloth.
In the rear seat, Claire Bennett sat bundled in a tactical fleece jacket, an oxygen pulse oximeter clipped to her middle finger.
Her breathing was still shallow, but the high-dose steroids had cleared the fatal constriction from her bronchial passages.
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the nylon strap of her seatbelt.
Beside her sat Matteo, his eyes fixed on the topographic maps displaying the perimeter defenses of Silvio Romano’s private estate.
“He has twelve private contractors stationed along the outer fence,” Matteo said, his finger tracing the blue contour lines of the horse paddocks.
“Ex-military, private security firm out of Virginia registered to Senator Sterling’s political action committee.”
“They aren't street hoods with handguns, Vincent.”
“They have night optics, thermal scopes, and heavy automatic perimeter rifles.”
Claire looked up, her dark eyes hollowed by panic and fever.
“Lily doesn't understand any of this,” she whispered, her voice trembling like thin ice.
“She thinks loud noises are fireworks.”
“She gets scared when strangers talk too loud.”
Vincent didn’t turn around, but his voice softened into a cadence he reserved only for her.
“She will never hear a loud noise again after tonight, Claire.”
Claire reached forward, her trembling, cool hand resting lightly on the leather headrest beside Vincent’s neck.
“Promise me you won’t let them take her to Virginia, Vincent.”
“I will burn the entire state of Pennsylvania before that plane leaves the tarmac,” he answered simply.
Marco Vane was driving, his eyes scanning the tree lines where private security cameras were hidden inside mock birdhouses.
“We are crossing the estate boundary in three minutes, boss,” Marco announced.
“The satellite uplink says the jet at Trenton-Mercer has filed a flight plan for Dulles International departing at 5:45 AM.”
“That gives us fifty-two minutes before Silvio moves her from the property.”
Vincent reassembled his weapon with a sharp, metallic snap that echoed like a small whip crack inside the cab.
“We hit the main gate with the armored transport,” Vincent ordered.
“No negotiations.”
“No demands.”
“Silvio thinks he holds the board because he’s lived behind forty years of family respect.”
“Tonight, respect is canceled.”
The convoy crested the final hill overlooking the river valley.
Spread across the riverbank below was Silvio Romano’s sprawling colonial compound.
The main manor was an eighteen-room mansion of hand-cut fieldstone, surrounded by manicured lawns, two antique horse barns, and a private stone chapel built by Vincent’s grandfather.
At the center of the estate, surrounded by high floodlights, sat a converted stone carriage house.
Parked directly outside the carriage house was the unmarked commercial ambulance that had breached the safe house on Pine Street.
Vincent raised his binoculars, focusing through the sleet.
Through the second-story window of the carriage house, he caught the faint reflection of a child’s yellow dress against the yellow incandescent interior light.
Lily was sitting on a wooden bench, holding a half-eaten green apple, flanked by two men wearing dark plate carriers and communications headsets.
Vincent lowered the glass, his jaw locking with tectonic pressure.
“The girl is on the second floor of the carriage house,” he announced over the tactical channel.
“Matteo and I will breach the rear stable line on foot.”
“Marco, take the transport through the main wrought-iron gate and draw their heavy suppression team to the front courtyard.”
Matteo racked the bolt of his suppressed rifle, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips.
“Just like the rail yards in South Philly when we were kids, brother.”
Vincent stepped out of the vehicle into the freezing mud, his heavy combat boots sinking into the wet turf.
“No, Matteo,” Vincent said, cocking his weapon.
May you like
“In South Philly, we were running.”
“Tonight, we are the ones who do the hunting.”
