Chapter 5 - THE INTRUDER IN THE SUITE
Clara didn't panic. Panic was for people who didn't know how to stop bleeding; survival was for professionals.
She scanned the master suite in three seconds flat. The heavy oak door had an electronic deadbolt, but a professional tactical team carrying hydraulic rams could breach it in under twenty seconds.
She spotted the en-suite medical bathroom—fully stocked with surgical instruments, heavy glass shelving, and a secondary exit leading down an emergency spiral staircase reserved for the estate's medical staff.
Click.
The heavy oak bedroom door groaned under a massive impact from the hallway.
Thud!
Wood splintered around the electronic lock.
Clara bolted into the bathroom, pulling the heavy frosted-glass door shut and sliding the manual brass privacy latch just as the main bedroom door crashed inward with a deafening roar.
Heavy boots stomped across the hardwood floor of the master bedroom.
"Clear!" a gruff voice shouted through the glass.
"She's not in the bed! Check the bathroom!" another voice barked.
Clara’s hands moved with practiced precision. She grabbed a heavy stainless-steel surgical tray, dumped its contents across the counter, and wedged the edge of the metal tray underneath the door handle of the bathroom door, jamming it at an angle against the tiled floor. It wouldn't stop them forever, but it would buy her thirty crucial seconds.
Heavy footsteps approached the bathroom door.
Bang!
A booted foot slammed against the frosted glass, cracking it into a spiderweb pattern.
"Got her! She’s locked in the washroom!" the intruder yelled, swinging his rifle butt against the glass again.
Shards of glass rained down across the marble tiles. A gloved hand reached through the jagged opening, groping blindly for the interior latch.
Clara didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy, pressurized oxygen tank from the medical rack, hoisted it up with every ounce of strength she possessed, and smashed the heavy steel cylinder directly down onto the intruder’s reaching wrist with a sickening crunch.
A muffled scream of agony echoed from the bedroom as the man yanked his broken hand back, swearing furiously.
"Open this fucking door or I'll blow the hinges off!" the lead merc shouted, pressing the barrel of a suppressed assault rifle against the cracked glass panel.
Clara backed away toward the emergency spiral staircase, keeping one hand firmly planted over her belly. She reached behind her, twisting the brass wheel of the emergency exit.
The heavy metal door popped open, revealing a dark, winding iron staircase leading down into the subterranean levels of the compound.
CRACK!
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A bullet pierced the frosted glass, embedding itself deeply into the wall an inch from Clara’s ear, showering her hair with drywall dust.
She didn't look back. She threw herself through the emergency door, slamming it shut behind her and spinning the heavy locking wheel just as the mercenaries breached the bathroom door.
