Chapter 10 - Fire and Steel
The banquet hall annex had turned into a tactical combat zone.
Smoke from tear gas canisters billowed through the shattered glass of the western entryway. Five private security operatives in unmarked black tactical gear had breached the exterior doors, moving in a tight wedge formation toward Corridor C. These weren't street thugs or desperate debt collectors; their footwork, weapon discipline, and spacing showed elite foreign military training.
"Hold fire until they enter the funnel," Mason whispered from behind a decorative marble pillar.
I crouched behind the reinforced reception counter ten yards to his left, drawing a bead on the point man carrying a suppressed submachine gun.
The lead hostile signaled his team with two finger taps against his receiver. They advanced past the fountain, unaware that the gala guests had already been evacuated through the subterranean bunker corridors by General Bradley’s personal detail. The only people left in this wing were soldiers who had fought through hell and back.
"Now!" Mason commanded.
Mason’s sidearm roared, the heavy caliber tearing through the point man’s shoulder armor, sending him crashing into the marble fountain.
At the same instant, I squeezed the trigger twice, double-tapping the second operative in center-mass. His armor caught the rounds, but the kinetic shock drove the air from his lungs, sending him stumbling backward into the shattered glass.
The remaining three hostiles immediately laid down a hail of suppressed fire, chips of marble and drywall exploding around my head like shrapnel. I ducked low, feeling the hot back-blast of Mason’s return fire as he flanked them from the right.
"Covering fire!" I called out, leaning around the counter and firing three controlled shots that forced the hostile flanker into the open.
Mason closed the distance like a predator. He stepped out of the smoke, grabbed the flanker’s rifle barrel, forced it upward into the ceiling, and delivered a devastating elbow strike directly to the man’s temple. The hostile went limp instantly. Mason caught the dropped rifle mid-air, spun on his heel, and neutralized the fourth operative with a point-blank burst to his tactical harness.
The final operative threw his weapon aside, diving behind an overturned dining table and screaming into his wrist comm: "Extraction failed! Target is armed and counter-attacking! We need—"
I leaped over the shattered marble counter, crossed the lobby in three long strides, and kicked the table aside. Before the operative could pull his secondary sidearm, the cold muzzle of my pistol was pressed directly against the center of his forehead.
"End of the line," I whispered.
The man froze, his chest heaving, staring down the barrel of my gun into eyes that held no mercy whatsoever.
Behind us, the heavy tactical doors swung open as Captain Hayes and a full platoon of heavily armed Quick Reaction Force MPs poured into the lobby, weapons raised, securing the perimeter in less than fifteen seconds.
Mason walked over, his face smeared with carbon and dust, but his gaze steady and triumphant. He kicked the operative's sidearm out of reach and gestured to the MP squad. "Cuff him. Take them all to the subterranean brig. High-treason protocol."
As the MPs dragged the operatives away, the silence that followed was deafening. The grand gala hall—once filled with laughter, champagne, and toxic family arrogance—lay in smoking ruins.
General Bradley walked slowly into the room, flanked by two brass officers. He looked at the shattered glass, then at Mason and me standing tall amid the wreckage.
"Major Vance," General Bradley said softly. "Are you injured?"
May you like
"Negative, General," I answered, lowering my weapon and snapping a crisp salute. "Threat neutralized. Collateral secured."
The General returned the salute with profound solemnity. "Your father would have been unimaginably proud of you tonight, Olivia. More than words can say."
