Chapter 9 - Crossfire in the Dark
Footsteps hammered against the hardwood of the grand hallway outside—heavy, coordinated, wearing tactical boots. Shouts echoed, followed immediately by the sharp, concussive crack of a suppressed submachine gun tearing through drywall.
Gabriel kicked the heavy oak doors shut, throwing the deadbolt just as a hail of bullets chewed through the wood panels, splintering oak and sending deadly wooden shrapnel flying across the room. Gabriel dropped to one knee by the doorframe, returning fire with measured, rhythmic bursts from his own weapon.
"They're hitting the main wing from the east staircase!" Gabriel shouted over the gunfire. "We're boxed in!"
Sebastian wheeled himself backward behind the heavy mahogany desk, using the reinforced oak and steel frame as makeshift cover. He looked at Clare, who was cowering near the fireplace, frozen in terror with the heavy pistol lying on the rug near her sneakers.
"Clare! Get down here!" Sebastian barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
She scrambled across the floor, crawling on her hands and knees until she reached the shelter of the desk. The smell of cordite and burnt powder filled the room, thick and suffocating.
"Why are they doing this?" Clare sobbed, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she clutched her knees to her chest. "I did what they asked! I gave him the oil!"
Sebastian stopped cold. He turned his head slowly, looking down at her with a gaze so dark and freezing that it made the fire crackling nearby feel like ice.
"What did you just say?" Sebastian whispered, the ambient gunfire fading into background noise against the crushing weight of his words.
Clare froze, realizing what she had let slip in the terror of the moment. She pressed her lips together, but the damage was done.
"What did you give me, Clare?" Sebastian demanded, his hand reaching out to grab her jacket collar, pulling her close. His voice wasn't loud, but it held the absolute terror of a predator cornered by a phantom. "What was in that oil?"
Before she could answer, the heavy double doors were blown inward with a deafening blast of a breaching charge. Splinters of wood and smoke filled the doorway.
Gabriel fired his last magazine into the dust and smoke, a muffled grunt echoing from the hall as a body hit the floor. But then Gabriel stumbled backward, dropping his weapon, his hands flying to his chest where a dark crimson stain was rapidly spreading across his tailored shirt. He collapsed against the bookcase, sliding down to the floor.
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"Gabriel!" Sebastian roared, letting go of Clare and trying to push his chair forward, but his legs—still heavy and unresponsive from the incomplete recovery—refused to cooperate.
Through the clearing smoke, a tall figure stepped into the ruined study, wearing a dark tactical vest and a neutral, expressionless face. He raised a suppressed automatic rifle, pointing it straight at Sebastian’s chest.
