Chapter 11 - The Siege of Blackwood Manor
The concussive blast from the courtyard blew outward, spraying pulverized concrete and splintered oak across the grand foyer. Smoke rolled in suffocating gray sheets, smelling of cordite, burning gasoline, and scorched copper.
Clara stumbled back, her arms locking around Leo with the primal, unbreakable strength of a mother facing down annihilation. The encrypted keycard Adrian had shoved into her palm felt searing hot, its edges digging into her flesh.
"Adrian!" she cried out again, the sound torn from her throat.
"Go! Now!" Adrian’s voice wasn't that of the quiet, sorrowful gentleman who had sat at her booth on New Year's Eve, drinking black coffee with wounded, gentle eyes. It was the command of a warlord whose empire was under direct assault. He stood squarely in the frame of the shattered entryway, tall and lethal against the hellish glow of the burning perimeter gates.
Automatic gunfire hammered the outer walls. High-caliber rounds ripped through the mahogany paneling, shredding portraits, tearing down chandeliers in a shower of glittering, razor-sharp crystals.
"Mrs. Bennett, move!" Marcus barked, his rifle already spitting controlled bursts out into the snow-choked dark. "The stairs down to the wine cellar! Steel door behind the rack! Run!"
Clara didn't look back a second time. She scooped Leo into her arms, ignoring the burning ache in her muscles, and bolted across the trembling parquet floor. Seven-year-old Leo buried his face into the hollow of her neck, his small hands clutching the collar of her winter coat. He wasn't crying; shock had frozen him into rigid, trembling silence.
Behind them, the war for Blackwood Manor ignited.
Adrian didn't dive for cover. He moved with a terrifying, predatory calm through the raining debris. He ducked behind a structural marble pillar as a heavy spray of lead gouged chunks out of the stone inches above his head. He adjusted his stance, leaned out, and fired two deafening rounds from his custom .45. Fifty yards away through the swirling snow, an armored figure advancing up the stone terrace dropped instantly into the drifts.
"They brought thirty-eight caliber platforms and thermite charges!" Marcus yelled, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle. "Jimmy Cole sold them the exact blind spots of the automated turrets, Boss! He gave them the master codes to the southern perimeter!"
Adrian’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to crack beneath the skin. Jimmy Cole had sat at his right hand for seven years. He had personally pulled Jimmy out of an East Boston gutter, paid for his sister’s chemotherapy, and given him a share of every dockside shipment.
"Then Jimmy dies first," Adrian said, his voice flat, devoid of human warmth. "Is the perimeter tunnel clear for Clara's extraction?"
Before Marcus could answer, an anti-material round punch-drilled straight through the fortified front door, catching Marcus in the right shoulder. The impact spun the veteran bodyguard around, slamming him hard against the shattered floorboards. Blood, hot and dark, splattered across the white marble.
"Marcus!" Adrian lunged, dragging his wounded lieutenant behind the heavy stone archway as a hail of incoming fire chewed through the entryway.
Down in the dark cellar, Clara reached the heavy vault door. The red LED light on the scanner blinked like a heartbeat. Her hands shook violently as she swiped the encrypted keycard.
*BEEP-CHUCK.*
Hydraulic locks disengaged with a deep, echoing thud. Clara shoved the heavy steel door open, pulled Leo inside, and slammed it shut, sealing them in an airtight panic room lined with surveillance screens.
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The screens flickered to life. Clara gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.
On the main camera feed, the grand hall was swarming with masked mercs in tactical black. And standing at the head of the assault line, holding a suppressed carbine with a sinister grin on his face, was Jimmy Cole.
