Chapter 4 - The Panic Protocol
Before Arthur’s guards could pull their triggers, I didn't pull a gun. I slammed my thumb down hard against the encrypted transmitter button hidden inside my breast pocket.
Bzzzt.
The structural vibration of the hardware pulsed against my ribs.
High above Lake Shore Drive, thousands of feet into the night sky, a localized EMP-encrypted pulse signal broadcasted silently from the penthouse’s roof relay straight down to the subterranean parking garage three levels below.
The heavy steel security shutters protecting the penthouse windows slammed shut automatically with a deafening, hydraulic crash, plunging the foyer into sudden, fortified darkness illuminated only by red emergency strip lighting.
“What did you do?!” Arthur screamed, stumbling backward into the guards as the doors locked down.
“I locked the vault,” I whispered, stepping forward with lethal speed.
The first guard raised his submachine gun, but before he could acquire a target, I slammed my palm upward against the barrel, deflecting the muzzle toward the ceiling. The suppressed weapon discharged in a muffled pop-pop, chewing through the plaster of the foyer ceiling.
I twisted the guard’s wrist until bone cracked, ripped the submachine gun from his grip, and used the heavy butt of the weapon to sweep his legs out from under him. He hit the marble floor hard and went limp.
The second guard swung his weapon toward me, but Naomi moved with terrifying, unexpected speed. She lunged from the shadows, smashing a heavy bronze decorative vase directly across the back of the guard’s skull. He crumpled to the floor without a sound.
Arthur turned to run toward the private elevator, his face twisted in absolute terror, but the elevator doors remained firmly sealed by the lockdown protocol.
He spun back around, his hands shaking as he reached into his jacket for a concealed pistol.
I was already standing in front of him.
Before Arthur could clear his holster, my hand shot out, grabbing him by the silk lapels of his custom suit and lifting him clear off the floor with raw, furious strength. I slammed his back against the reinforced security glass of the foyer wall, the glass spider-webbing instantly under the impact.
Arthur choked for air, his feet dangling six inches off the ground, his fingers clawing desperately at my wrists.
“Roman... please,” Arthur gasped, spittle flying from his lips. “We can... we can cut a deal. The offshore accounts... I’ll give you the passwords—”
“You don't have anything left to trade, Arthur,” I whispered, my face inches from his.
Camille stood frozen against the locked elevator doors, her breathing coming in ragged, terrified gasps, realizing for the first time that the man she had tried to betray was a monster she could never control.
“Roman,” Camille whimpered, sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. “Please... I was forced. Arthur and my father threatened me—”
I didn't even look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Arthur’s turning-blue face as the security intercom beside us crackled to life with a loud, electronic hiss.
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“ Boss,” Leo’s voice barked through the speaker from the ground floor. “We’ve secured the perimeter elevators. Federal marshals are twenty minutes out, but we’ve got an incoming call on the secure line from Patrick Sloane himself.”
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