Chapter 10 - The Last Stand
-10-
The operative didn't hesitate. The moment he spotted me standing alone in the center of the ruined nursery, he raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger.
CRACK-CRACK.
I dove to the side, rolling over the edge of an overturned toddler bed as wood splinters exploded around my head. I returned fire from the floor, my carbine spitting two rapid rounds that struck the doorframe inches from his head, forcing him to duck back into the hallway.
"Hostile is armed! Third floor, east wing!" the operative screamed into his shoulder radio.
Within seconds, heavy boots swarmed the corridor. I pulled a smoke grenade from my tactical vest, pulled the pin with my teeth, and hurled it out into the hallway.
A thick, blinding cloud of grey smoke billowed into the room, choking the doorway and obscuring their night-vision optics. Shouts of confusion echoed through the corridor as coughing operatives stumbled backward against the walls.
I used the distraction to retreat toward the private study at the opposite end of the east wing. If I could reach the master communications console hidden inside the wall paneling, I could broadcast an unencrypted data stream of every recorded transaction, wire transfer, and audio confession involving Arthur Vance directly to every major news network and federal watchdog agency on the East Coast.
It wouldn't save my life, but it would ensure that Vance’s empire burned right along with mine.
I threw open the double doors of my private study, rushed to the mahogany desk, and slammed my hand down on the hidden override switch beneath the kneehole.
The wall paneling slid open, revealing the illuminated green monitors of the master satellite uplink.
I sat down in the leather chair, my fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard, initiating the global data dump. A progress bar appeared on the central screen: UPLOADING FILES... 14%... 28%...
"Come on," I muttered under my breath, watching the numbers tick upward while the sound of approaching boots grew louder outside the study doors.
BANG.
A heavy steel battering ram slammed into the oak double doors of the study, splintering the deadbolts. On the second strike, the doors burst inward.
Arthur Vance walked through the threshold, flanked by four heavily armed tactical operatives holding assault shields. He wasn't wearing a tactical vest; he wore his tailored trench coat, his silver hair immaculate, a cold, triumphant smile playing across his lips.
"It's over, Julian," Vance said smoothly, stopping ten feet away as his men leveled their weapons at my chest. "You really thought you could outsmart the Department of Justice from a dying estate?"
I didn't stop typing. My eyes remained fixed on the monitor screen. UPLOADING FILES... 74%... 89%...
"I didn't need to outsmart the Department of Justice, Arthur," I said, my voice steady and calm as I kept my fingers moving across the keys. "I just needed to live long enough to press send."
Vance’s smile vanished. His eyes darted toward the monitor screen. "Shoot him! Stop that transmission!"
Before the operatives could pull their triggers, a deafening explosion ripped through the ground floor of the mansion, shaking the entire foundation and plunging the study into absolute darkness as the emergency generators blew.
Through the haze of smoke and falling plaster, a figure stepped through the shattered doorway of the study, holding a smoking 40mm grenade launcher.
It wasn't Sarah.
May you like
It was Viktor, my chief of security, flanked by a dozen heavily armed loyalists who had breached the front gates from the underground motor pool.
"Sorry I'm late, Boss," Viktor grunted, leveling his launcher directly at Arthur Vance's chest. "Traffic on the bridge was terrible."
