Chapter 10 - The Dawn of Retribution
The clock on the dashboard of my armored Suburban showed four forty-five in the morning.
The city of Atlanta was still asleep beneath a thick blanket of pre-dawn fog, unaware of the blood that had already soaked its outskirts.
Behind me, two black tactical vans carrying sixteen fully armed operators from Apex Tactical idled quietly along West Paces Ferry Road.
Down the street sat the towering limestone facade of the St. Regis Hotel in Buckhead, the playground of foreign diplomats and corporate executives.
Elena’s cartel contact, a high-ranking operative named Hector Salazar, was occupying the entire presidential suite on the eighth floor.
Salazar had believed he was playing a sophisticated game of corporate chess with Arthur Vance and an embittered mob wife.
He did not realize that the chessboard had been flipped over and soaked in gasoline hours ago.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was Marcus, calling from the estate.
“Speak.”
“Klaus’s jet touched down five minutes ago, Vincent,” Marcus reported, his voice crisp and clear over the encrypted channel.
“Dr. Weber and the pediatric toxicology team are already inside the house.”
“Have they examined the compound from Hangar Seven?”
“Dr. Weber verified the serial numbers against the Zurich database,” Marcus said.
“The seal is intact. The compound is pure.”
“They are setting up the intravenous micro-infusion line in Lila’s room right now.”
A heavy, crushing weight that had sat on my chest for six months finally shifted.
“How is Lila doing, Marcus?”
“She woke up for a moment,” Marcus answered softly.
“She asked if the sun was coming back today.”
My throat tightened, but I kept my voice as cold as shaved ice.
“Tell her the storm has completely cleared.”
“Tell her Daddy will be home in time for breakfast.”
I hung up the phone and signaled to Captain Reyes in the passenger seat.
“Rules of engagement, Mr. Moretti?” Reyes asked, checking the chamber of his suppressed rifle.
“Salazar lives long enough to sign over his maritime cargo manifests and name every customs official on his payroll,” I said.
“Everyone else in that eighth-floor suite does not leave the carpet breathing.”
“Understood, sir.”
We moved on the hotel with the terrifying precision of a military assault force.
The service entrance in the underground loading dock was secured in sixty seconds flat, the hotel security guards incapacitated and restrained without a single shot fired.
We took the private service elevator straight to the eighth floor, cutting the master electrical breaker to the entire north wing as the doors parted.
Emergency red lights flickered on along the carpeted corridor.
Before Salazar’s private bodyguards could unholster their weapons in the darkness, Reyes’s men breached the double mahogany doors with hydraulic rams.
Suppressed gunfire hissed through the penthouse like angry snakes.
Three cartel guards collapsed onto the marble foyer before they could even raise their machine pistols.
I walked through the ruined entryway, stepping over the fallen bodies, my coat sweeping the floor.
In the center of the massive living room, Hector Salazar stood with his hands raised in the air, his silk bathrobe open, his face white with disbelief.
He looked at my face, then down at the smoking barrel in Reyes’s hands, and finally understood that the Atlanta syndicate was not dead.
“Vincent Moretti...” Salazar stammered in broken English, backing toward the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Buckhead.
“This is a business misunderstanding... we can negotiate the maritime tariffs...”
I walked straight up to him, grabbed the lapels of his silk robe, and shoved him violently against the ballistic glass.
“You supplied the Russian thallium that poisoned my daughter’s eyes, Hector,” I said softly.
Salazar’s pupils dilated with raw, primal panic.
“It was the woman! Elena approached us in South Beach! She asked for a compound that couldn't be detected by American labs!”
“And you delivered it to my home,” I whispered, leaning in until my forehead touched his.
“You gave poison to a seven-year-old child to seize my freight terminals.”
“Wait! Moretti, wait!” he screamed, his hands grabbing at my wrists.
“I have ten million in untraceable bearer bonds in the suite safe! Take it! Take all of it and let me board a flight to Bogota!”
I let go of his lapels and stepped back.
“Reyes,” I said quietly.
“Yes, sir?”
“Open the safe, secure the documents and the bonds, and transfer them directly to Lila’s offshore medical trust.”
“And what about Mr. Salazar, boss?”
I looked out the high window at the pale grey line of dawn breaking across the Atlanta skyline.
The sun was rising.
May you like
The darkness that had threatened to consume my family was burning away into the morning light.
“Throw him through the glass,” I said, walking toward the elevator doors.
