Chapter 12 - The Poisoned Well
The armored Yukon tore through the downtown streets at ninety miles an hour, ignoring red lights and siren warnings.
The rain had resumed, lashing against the windshield in violent sheets as the wipers labored against the storm.
Sebastian reloaded his sidearm in the passenger seat, slapping the high-capacity magazine home with brutal efficiency.
"ETA is four minutes, boss," Cole reported, his one good hand maneuvering the heavy steering wheel with white-knuckle focus.
"The building’s automated security protocols went into total lockdown three minutes ago."
"Power to the upper ten floors has been killed."
"Backup generators should have kicked in within thirty seconds," Sebastian said, his eyes scanning the looming glass towers ahead.
"They didn't," Cole answered, glancing at his dashboard monitor.
"Someone planted shaped charges on the sub-basement transformers."
"This isn't an extraction."
"It's a military demolition."
The Yukon vaulted the concrete curb into the plaza of The Sovereign, smashing through the ornamental planters and skidding to a halt before the main glass lobby.
The private security team hired by Kane Enterprises was scattered across the lobby tiles.
Two guards lay unconscious near the reception desk, their tactical gear stripped and their weapons missing.
Sebastian did not wait for Cole.
He kicked open his door, his assault rifle raised, sprinting across the polished granite toward the emergency service stairwell.
The air in the concrete shaft smelled of burned cordite and sulfur.
Sebastian took the stairs three at a time, his lungs burning with exertion, his boots pounding a relentless rhythm against the steel treads.
He reached the forty-ninth floor in six minutes, kicking the fire door off its latch.
The hallway was filled with thick, acrid smoke that stung his eyes and choked his throat.
Spent shell casings rolled across the carpet beneath his soles.
Three masked operatives wearing gray urban camouflage were working at the reinforced titanium door of the residential panic vault.
One man held an oxy-acetylene torch, throwing showers of brilliant blue sparks across the doorframe.
The other two provided covering fire down the main corridor.
Sebastian leveled his rifle and fired a controlled four-round burst before the sentries could acquire their targets.
The first shooter dropped instantly as two rounds punched through his center mass.
The second dove behind an overturned marble console table, returning fire with an automatic submachine gun.
Plaster and splintered wood rained down on Sebastian as he rolled behind an alcove housing an antique bronze clock.
Cole emerged from the stairwell behind him, firing his sidearm with rhythmic, punishing accuracy.
Cole’s round caught the second operative in the exposed shoulder, spinning him into the open.
Sebastian leaned around the corner and put a single round through the operative's helmet visor.
The man with the torch dropped the equipment, drawing a sidearm as he scrambled backward toward the shattered glass terrace doors.
"Stand down!" Sebastian roared, advancing down the hallway with his rifle aimed at the man's throat.
The operative didn't raise his hands.
He raised his weapon toward his own temple and pulled the trigger without a second of hesitation.
The gunshot cracked through the smoke-filled corridor, and the man collapsed limp onto the terrace stones.
Sebastian lowered his rifle, coughing against the chemical smoke, and stepped over the bodies to the vault door.
The titanium plate was scorched black, the edges glowing with dull orange heat where the torch had bitten into the steel.
Sebastian pressed his thumb against the scorched biometric scanner, but the glass was melted and dead.
"Lily!" Sebastian shouted, pounding his fist against the foot-thick metal.
"Lily, it’s Sebastian!"
"Input the manual mechanical override code from the inside!"
For five terrifying seconds, there was only the hum of the wind whistling through the shattered terrace glass.
Then came the heavy, grinding clatter of manual iron deadbolts being drawn back by hand.
The heavy door swung outward by three inches.
Lily Harper fell through the gap into Sebastian’s arms, her face covered in soot, her body shaking so violently she could barely draw breath.
She clutched his lapels with desperate strength, burying her face into his wool coat.
"They said... they said Dominic sent them," Lily sobbed, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
"The man with the torch told me Dominic was waiting in the car below."
"He lied to you," Sebastian said, his voice lowering into a soothing, steady baritone as he wrapped his coat around her.
"Dominic would never send butchers with torches."
Cole knelt beside the body of the operative who had taken his own life, using a combat knife to slice open the dead man’s tactical vest.
Cole pulled a laminated identification card from an internal waterproof pouch and turned it over under his flashlight.
"He’s not private security, Sebastian," Cole said, his voice laden with grave realization.
"He holds active credentials from the Swiss Federal Intelligence Service."
"And he’s carrying a satellite communicator linked to an encrypted routing server in St. Moritz."
Sebastian looked down at the dead operative, then across the smoking corridor at the shattered terrace.
"Dominic went to Switzerland," Sebastian said quietly, the pieces of the puzzle locking together in his mind.
"He knew the second wave was coming."
"He didn't leave the city to hide."
"He left to intercept the people funding these hit teams before they could reach Lily."
Lily lifted her head from Sebastian’s chest, her eyes wide with terror.
"He went alone, Sebastian," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Before he left the penthouse, he gave me a burner phone."
"He said if the sky fell, I was to text a single word to a number registered in Zurich."
Sebastian reached down, gently touching her chin.
"What was the word, Lily?"
Lily reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small, cheap plastic flip phone.
On the illuminated screen was an unsent text message addressed to an international number.
The word was:
GOLGOTHA.
Sebastian took the phone from her trembling hand and closed it in his palm.
"Cole, call our private aviation hangar at Teterboro," Sebastian ordered, turning his back on the destruction.
"Prep the Gulfstream for transatlantic flight."
"Where are we going, boss?" Cole asked, wiping blood from his cheek.
"We’re going to Switzerland," Sebastian replied, his pale eyes burning with lethal intent.
May you like
"My brother went to war without an army."
"It’s time to show Europe what happens when both sons of Arthur Kane come to collect."
