Chapter 5 - The First Strike
The basement of our estate was a modern concrete bunker, built to withstand hurricanes and secure Daniel's private art collection. Behind a hidden panel in the wine cellar sat a heavy steel safe.
Daniel entered the code, and the heavy door swung open, revealing a neatly organized armory. He pulled out a compact semi-automatic pistol and checked the chamber with practiced ease, while I adjusted the straps of my tactical vest.
"We take the armored SUV," Daniel said, pointing to the garage bay next to the cellar. "It has Level 4 ballistic glass. It can handle rifle fire."
"Good," I said. "But we don't go to the safehouse."
He paused, looking at me. "Why? Marcus said—"
"Marcus is a good cop, but his department is compromised. The Syndicate couldn't have poisoned Conrad in a federal facility without inside help. If we go to the designated safehouse, we're walking into a trap."
"Then where do we go?"
"The place they'd least expect us," I said, checking my phone's GPS. "We're going to Vanessa's private apartment in the city. The police haven't cleared it yet, and her father's security team is in disarray. She has a personal server there. If she was blackmailing me, she has the original files stored somewhere local."
Suddenly, the lights in the basement flickered and died.
The emergency backup generator kicked in, bathing the concrete room in a dim, red glow.
"They're here," Daniel whispered, raising his weapon.
"They cut the main power line," I said, moving toward the security monitors. The screens were static. "They've jammed the signal. No cameras, no cell service."
"How many?"
"A standard hit team is four to six men," I replied, my voice dropping to a calm, professional whisper. "They'll enter through the weakest points—the kitchen glass doors and the second-floor balcony. They want this to look like a home invasion or a tragic accident. They don't know we're armed."
"What's the plan?" Daniel asked, his breathing shallow but steady.
"We don't wait for them to clear the house," I said, turning to him. "We ambush them in the main hall. The staircase gives us the high ground. You take the left flank, I'll take the right. Shoot to disable, but if they raise a weapon, don't hesitate."
He nodded once, his expression fierce. "Understood."
We moved silently up the basement stairs, our soft-soled boots making no sound on the hardwood floors. The house was dark, save for the gray morning light filtering through the large glass windows. Outside, the rain was pouring, creating a constant, white-noise roar that masked our movements.
A sharp click echoed from the kitchen.
A dark figure stepped through the shattered glass door, his weapon raised, a suppressor attached to the barrel. He was wearing black tactical gear and a balaclava.
I didn't give him the chance to look around.
I stepped out from the shadow of the pantry and fired twice. Both shots hit his center mass, sending him crashing backward onto the kitchen tile. His weapon clattered away.
"Intruder down!" a voice hissed through a radio on the fallen man's shoulder. "We have contact in the kitchen!"
Two more figures appeared at the front entrance, their weapons flashing as they fired toward the stairs. The glass panels beside the front door shattered into a million pieces.
Daniel stepped out from his position behind a marble pillar. He fired three rapid shots, his aim steady. One of the attackers grunted and collapsed, clutching his shoulder, while the other dove behind our living room sofa for cover.
"They're professional, but they're impatient," I called out to Daniel over the gunfire. "They thought they'd catch us asleep!"
I threw a flashbang grenade down the hallway.
A blinding white light and a deafening boom shattered the darkness.
Before the remaining attacker could recover, I rushed forward, sliding across the slick floor, and kicked his weapon from his hand. I brought the butt of my pistol down hard against his temple, knocking him unconscious.
The house fell silent again, save for the rain and the heavy breathing of the wounded attacker on the kitchen floor.
Daniel walked down the stairs, his weapon still raised, his eyes wide as he looked at the fallen men. "Is it over?"
"The first wave is," I said, kneeling beside the leader of the team. I pulled off his mask, revealing a face I didn't recognize—a young, cold-eyed mercenary. I searched his pockets, finding a burner phone and a small, encrypted GPS tracker.
The screen of the burner phone lit up with a single text message:
Package secure. Target 2 terminated?
"They think Vanessa is already dead," Daniel said, reading over my shoulder.
May you like
"No," I replied, looking at the GPS coordinates on the tracker. "They're holding her. This tracker has a live feed to a warehouse near the docks. They're going to interrogate her before they get rid of her."
I stood up, my eyes meeting Daniel's. "We have to go. Now."
