Chapter 5 - The Siege Begins
"Stay inside this room," Adrian ordered, his voice cutting through the sudden stillness of the suite like a blade. "Lock the secondary deadbolts. Do not open this door for anyone other than me or Leo. Do you understand?"
Hannah was already on her feet. She didn't scream. She didn't drop into hysterics. She moved with lightning efficiency, scooping the sleeping Maisie into her arms and pulling the heavy cashmere blanket around the little girl’s shoulders.
"The bathroom," Hannah said, her eyes wide but steady. "It has no exterior windows and reinforced stone walls. I’ll put Owen in the carrier and take them both inside."
Adrian looked at her, his expression a mixture of grim resolve and fierce gratitude. "Good. The glass in this suite is ballistic-grade, but don't risk it. If the door handle turns, use the keypad behind the mirror to seal the vault."
He turned and strode out of the master bedroom, pulling a matte-black customized SIG Sauer P226 from a concealed holster beneath his belt.
The hallway was filled with the rhythmic strobing of red emergency lights. The central power had been severed, and the manor’s secondary generators had instantly kicked in, locking down the lower levels and activating the steel storm shutters over the ground-floor windows.
Adrian descended the sweeping marble staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs, Declan, his chief technical specialist, was kneeling beside a portable communications rig set up on the dining room table. Three monitors glowed with feeds from forty-eight infrared cameras placed throughout the grounds.
"Status," Adrian commanded.
"They hit the gatehouse with a dump truck loaded with wet concrete," Declan reported without looking up, his fingers flying over a ruggedized keyboard. "Took out the hydraulic bollards by sheer mass. Six vehicles entered the estate. Highly organized. They’re moving in tactical fire teams of four, using suppressors and thermal optics. They aren't street thugs, Adrian. This is Vance’s private maritime security detail from the Port of Newark."
"How many?"
"Twenty-four shooters. Maybe twenty-eight."
"Leo’s team?"
"Holding the tree line along the driveway, but they’re outgunned on the heavy caliber front. Vance’s people brought belt-fed light machine guns. They intend to level the ground floor and burn the structure."
Adrian walked to the gun locker hidden behind the walnut paneling of his study. He punched in an eight-digit code. The panel slid aside to reveal an arsenal that would equip a specialized military squad: customized carbines, submachine guns, drum magazines, and tactical ceramic armor plates.
Adrian strapped a lightweight plate carrier over his chest. He pulled an HK416 assault rifle from the rack, charged the charging handle with a sharp, metallic *clack*, and slapped a sixty-round magazine into the well.
"Where is Natalie?" Adrian asked.
"Still in holding cell two in the cellar," Declan said. "Victor Shaw is in cell three. Shaw has been screaming his head off since the first mortar hit the lawn. He knows Vance’s men aren't here to rescue them. Vance doesn't leave witnesses who can tie him to an attempted murder of a federal ward."
"Leave them locked," Adrian said coldly. "If Vance’s men breach the lower level, they’ll do my work for me."
Adrian walked toward the western terrace doors.
The glass shattered before he reached them.
A barrage of high-velocity 5.56 rounds tore through the heavy oak frames, chewing the antique plaster into dust and raining shards of treated glass across the marble foyer. The concussive thuds of flashbang grenades detonating on the patio rattled the chandeliers above.
Adrian dropped behind an overturned mahogany credenza. He raised his rifle, sighted through the holographic optic, and waited.
The first silhouette appeared through the smoke—a man dressed in black tactical gear, carrying a short-barreled shotgun, moving with the trained crouch of an ex-special forces operator.
Adrian squeezed the trigger twice.
*Double-tap.*
The shooter collapsed backward through the terrace frame, his weapon clattering across the patio stones.
A second operative lunged around the corner, firing blindly into the study. Adrian didn't flinch. He adjusted his aim by three inches and fired three rounds through the drywall, catching the man in the upper chest through the plaster. The second man went down with a choked gurgle.
"Adrian!" Leo’s voice crackled through the tactical radio pinned to Adrian’s vest. "They’re circling the east perimeter toward the service entrance! They’re trying to find the secondary riser! They know the master suite is on the second floor!"
Adrian’s heart seized.
Owen. Hannah. Maisie.
They weren't trying to take over the house. They were trying to reach the nursery to finish what Natalie had started. If Owen died tonight, the entire legal apparatus fell apart, and Hector Vance could use his political puppets to freeze Adrian’s assets under emergency federal conservatorship before the dawn sun rose.
"Declan!" Adrian roared over the gunfire. "Seal the service stairwell!"
"The hydraulic controls on the east wing are down!" Declan screamed back, ducking as a stray round obliterated one of his computer monitors. "They blew the sub-panel with C4! The service stairs are open!"
May you like
Adrian didn't wait. He abandoned his cover, sprinting across the bullet-riddled hallway toward the rear staircase, his boots sliding through dust and broken glass.
***
