Chapter 10 - The Tactical Shift
The mercenaries instantly recoiled, grabbing their ears in agony as the classified military countermeasures frequency—transmitted directly through the encrypted transponder in my uniform—overloaded their comms headsets with deafening static feedback.
In combat, a half-second of distraction is an eternity.
Before the lead mercenary could recover, I closed the six-foot distance between us. I drove the heel of my palm upward under his chin, snapping his head back with a sickening crunch. As he stumbled backward, I seized the receiver of his suppressed submachine gun, twisted it against his thumb, and ripped it from his grip in one fluid motion.
I pivoted, using his falling body as a human shield as the second mercenary tried to raise his weapon.
*Thwack. Thwack.*
Two suppressed rounds from my captured weapon caught the second mercenary in the center of his tactical vest, the kinetic impact slamming him back against the stone fireplace.
"Shoot her! Kill her!" Arthur screamed, diving behind an antique couch like a terrified dog.
Julian dropped to his knees, covering his head with his hands, weeping uncontrollably. "Don't shoot! Please don't shoot!"
The remaining four mercenaries fanned out, recovering their discipline and raising their muzzles toward me. But before they could pull their triggers, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows lining the entire length of the grand salon shattered inward in an explosion of tempered glass, flashbangs, and blinding white smoke.
*BANG! BANG!*
The concussive force of the flashbangs rattled the chandelier overhead, plunging the room into disorienting light and thunder. Through the ruined window frames poured a strike team of Army Delta operators in full assault gear, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting through the smoke like laser beams.
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DOWN ON THE FLOOR! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"
The four remaining Apex mercenaries barely had time to turn before they were tackled, disarmed, and pinned face-down against the shattered glass by the assault team.
General Holloway stepped through the shattered French doors, his service trench coat spattered with rain, a heavy Colt .45 drawn and steady in his right hand.
"Perimeter secure, Colonel Vance," Holloway barked over the ringing silence. "We intercepted their jamming vehicle at the front gate three minutes ago."
Arthur crawled out from behind the couch, his clothes covered in ash and broken glass, coughing violently. "Marcus... Marcus, thank God! She attacked my security! She's out of her mind!"
Holloway walked over to Arthur, looked down at him with utter disgust, and aimed the Colt directly between my father’s eyes.
"Arthur Vance," Holloway said in a voice that sounded like grinding granite. "You are under arrest for high treason, conspiracy to distribute weaponized biological materials, and the first-degree murder of General Thomas Vance."
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Arthur collapsed onto the floor, staring up at the barrel of the gun as two federal marshals moved in to slap heavy steel zip-ties around his wrists. Julian was already being dragged away, sobbing incoherently, his designer suit ruined, his arrogance completely shattered.
I lowered my weapon, clearing the chamber with a crisp snap.
