Chapter 5 - The Midnight Breach
The elevator doors slid open into the subterranean motor pool of the estate, revealing three sleek black SUVs idling with their headlights off, their exhaust pluming white in the freezing Swiss air.
Victor Sterling was already standing by the driver’s side of the lead vehicle, an automatic rifle slung across his chest, shouting orders into a comms headset in German.
"The perimeter breach tripped the thermal sensors on the north ridge," Victor barked as Silas and Khloe stepped out of the elevator. He tossed a heavy Kevlar vest toward Silas, who caught it with one hand and immediately thrust it toward Khloe. "Put that on. They're not using syndicate tactics; this is a federal extraction unit."
"Extraction?" Khloe held the vest against her chest, her mind racing. "Who are they extracting? Marcus is still unconscious upstairs."
"Not Marcus," Silas snapped, pulling a suppressed SIG Sauer pistol from a holster beneath his seat and racking the slide with a sharp, metallic clack. "David."
Khloe froze. "My uncle? He's here? In Lausanne?"
"He's been in the secure medical wing on the third floor since Tuesday," Silas said, his eyes scanning the security monitors mounted on the garage wall, where infrared camera feeds showed half a dozen dark figures moving methodically through the estate's sculpture garden, their weapons suppressed and thermal scopes glowing softly in the dark. "I brought him out of Zurich yesterday to verify the ledger signatures before I confronted Marcus. I didn't think they'd track him this fast."
"Who is 'they'?" Khloe demanded, refusing to put on the vest until she got an answer.
Silas stopped, turning to face her directly, the harsh fluorescent light of the garage reflecting off his dark eyes.
"The same federal task force that has been laundering illegal arms shipments through Chicago for fifteen years," Silas said quietly. "Led by the man your uncle reported to before he faked his own death: Assistant Director James Vance."
Before Khloe could absorb the name, the heavy steel roll-up door at the front of the motor pool shuddered under the deafening impact of an explosive charge. The bottom edge of the metal buckled inward, showering the concrete floor with sparks and acrid white smoke.
"Get in the vehicle, Khloe," Silas ordered, his voice brooking zero argument as he shoved her toward the open rear door of the SUV.
"No," Khloe said, planting her boots firmly on the concrete as the second explosive charge detonated against the side entrance, blowing the heavy oak doors off their hinges in a roar of splintered wood and fire. "If my uncle is upstairs, and Vance's men are coming for him, they're going to burn this entire estate to the ground to get those ledgers."
Silas stared at her for a fraction of a second—not with the condescension of a mob boss looking at a civilian, but with the sudden, terrifying recognition of a man looking at his own reflection.
"Victor," Silas shouted over the rising wail of the estate's internal alarms. "Take the lead vehicle through the lower service tunnel. Get the boy to the airstrip."
"And you, boss?" Victor yelled back, his rifle already raised toward the smoking breach in the garage wall.
May you like
Silas didn't answer. He reached into his coat, pulled out a spare compact pistol, and pressed it firmly into Khloe’s hand, wrapping her fingers around the grip with absolute, unyielding precision.
"Stay behind me," Silas said, his eyes locked on the figures emerging through the smoke in the doorway. "If we're going to burn down the rest of your family's secrets tonight, we're going to do it together."
