Chapter 5 - Fractured Lies
Z
The drop was terrifying, a blind plunge into freezing, rushing water. We hit the subterranean river with a bone-shattering splash, the shock of the ice-cold water knocking the last remaining breath from my lungs. My shoulder screamed in agony as the sutures threatened to tear completely open under the pressure.
I broke the surface coughing, gasping for air in the pitch-black tunnel.
"Amelia!" Dominic’s voice boomed through the echo of the brick archways.
A hand caught the back of my tactical vest, pulling me toward a concrete ledge that ran along the edge of the roaring water. Dominic hauled me up onto the slick surface, his breath ragged, his heavy body shuddering with exhaustion.
Above us, the deep, rumbling reverberations of Blackthorne House collapsing echoed down the shaft. A cloud of black smoke and dust poured out of the tunnel opening high above, drifting over the rushing dark water.
Dominic collapsed back against the wet brick wall, his hand pressed tightly against his left side. In the dim amber glow of a single waterproof flashlight he had pulled from his belt, I saw dark, heavy blood flowing freely between his fingers.
"Dominic!" I panicked, scrambling onto my knees beside him, forgetting my own agony. "You're bleeding!"
"The blade... went deep," he gasped out, his face impossibly pale, his dark eyes fluttering under the strain. "Knife... caught an artery..."
"Hold still!" I ordered, ripping open the front of my tactical vest and tearing off a thick strip of my inner cotton undershirt. "Press this down! Hard!"
I slammed the makeshift bandage against his wound. Dominic groaned, his jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind together, but he didn't make another sound. He reached up, his large hand covering mine, pressing down with immense pressure to stanch the bleeding.
"Caleb..." Dominic whispered, his strength visibly fading. "Where is Marcus?"
"Boss!" A voice called out from fifty yards down the dark tunnel.
A beam of light cut through the gloom. Marcus appeared, carrying Caleb on his back. Caleb immediately scrambled down from Marcus's shoulders and ran toward us, his sneakers splashing in the shallow puddles along the ledge.
"Daddy!" Caleb cried, dropping to his knees beside Dominic, tears streaking his dust-covered cheeks. "Daddy, you're hurt!"
"I'm... fine, Caleb," Dominic lied weakly, reaching up with a bloody hand to gently stroke his son’s cheek. "Told you... I'd be right behind you."
Marcus hurried over, dropping his heavy tactical gear and instantly taking over the pressure on Dominic’s wound. He opened his field medical kit with professional speed, pulling out a tourniquet and a clotting agent.
"The knife cut his intercostal artery," Marcus said grimly, looking up at me. "If I don't get him to a surgical suite within thirty minutes, he'll bleed out right here on this concrete."
"The boathouse," Dominic rasped out, grabbing Marcus's tactical vest. "The launch... is prepped. Dr. Evans is... waiting at the safehouse in Boston."
"Can you walk, boss?" Marcus asked.
Dominic gritted his teeth, using the brick wall behind him to force his massive frame upward. He swayed violently, his vision swimming, but he refused to fall. "I can walk."
I offered him my shoulder, placing his heavy arm over my uninjured side. He leaned on me, his weight crushing, but I held firm. Together, with Marcus leading the way with his rifle ready and Caleb clutching my hand tightly, we began the long, agonizing march through the subterranean dark.
The tunnel smelled of rot, moss, and centuries of stagnant water. Every step was a battle against pain and exhaustion, but the image of Elias's cold, scarred face kept my adrenaline surging. He wasn't dead. I knew it in my bones. A man who had survived a burning estate eight years ago wouldn't be stopped by a gas explosion in a basement.
After twenty minutes of suffocating darkness, the tunnel began to slope upward. The sound of lapping water grew louder, and the fresh, cold night air swept in from ahead, carrying the salty tang of the Atlantic Ocean.
We burst through a set of rotting wooden doors into a massive, hidden boathouse built underneath an abandoned textile mill. Tied to the concrete dock was a sleek, fifty-foot dark gray high-speed interceptor boat, its dual engines idling with a deep, low rumble.
"Get him aboard!" Marcus ordered, helping me navigate Dominic down the narrow wooden ramp onto the deck.
We moved Dominic into the sleek, high-tech cabin, laying him down on a leather bench. Marcus immediately hooked him up to a portable IV bag of saline solution and applied a thick pressure bandage over the clotting pack.
Caleb sat beside his father, holding his hand, refusing to let go.
I stepped out onto the open rear deck, cold ocean rain washing over my face, mixing with the blood and sweat. Looking back toward the tree-lined hills of the Blackthorne estate two miles away, I could see a massive column of black smoke rising into the night sky, illuminated by the orange glow of a massive fire.
My home for three years—the only place I had felt safe in almost a decade—was burning to the ground.
"Amelia," Marcus’s voice sounded behind me. He stepped onto the deck, shutting the cabin door behind him. He held a small, rugged satellite phone in his hand.
"How is he?" I asked softly.
"Stable for now," Marcus replied. "The clotting agent worked, but he needs surgery tonight. We'll reach the Boston safehouse in forty minutes."
He looked at me, his sharp eyes filled with a terrifyingly intense scrutiny.
"You need to tell me everything now, Amelia," Marcus said, stepping closer, his hand resting casually near his sidearm. "No more secrets. No more half-truths. Mr. Mercer almost died tonight protecting you. If you are a risk to him or the boy, I will drop you into this river right now and answer to Dominic later."
I looked at Marcus, seeing no hesitation in his eyes. He was loyal to Dominic above all else.
"I didn't know Elias was alive, Marcus. I swear to you on my life," I said, my voice steady despite the cold rain shivering through my clothes. "And I didn't know about my father's biological encoding until Elias said it down in that vault."
Marcus stared at me for a long, agonizing moment before slowly easing his hand away from his gun. "The drive Elias left in the server room... our remote servers backed up the metadata right before the explosion destroyed the basement."
"And?" I asked, my blood running cold.
"It wasn't just weapon schematics," Marcus revealed, leaning closer so his voice wouldn't carry into the cabin. "It was a hit list. A ledger of thirty high-ranking government officials, intelligence directors, and corporate CEOs across the United States."
"A hit list?" I repeated, bewildered. "Why would Lazarus contain a hit list?"
"Because Lazarus isn't just an algorithm that decrypts data," Marcus said softly, his voice heavy with dread. "It’s an automated execution protocol. Once activated, it releases classified, catastrophic intelligence on those thirty individuals simultaneously—triggering political collapses, market crashes, and targeted drone strikes across three continents."
I felt the air drain completely from my lungs. "Father... Father didn't build a shield. He built a dead man's switch."
"And Elias doesn't just want to sell it," Marcus finished. "He wants to press the button. He wants to trigger global chaos, and he needs your blood to authorize the final launch sequence."
Before I could process the horror of his words, the interceptor boat's central console chimed loudly.
A high-frequency radio signal locked onto our vessel's secure receiver.
Marcus sprinted to the helm, pressing the audio override button.
The speakers crackled, and a voice filled the quiet cabin—not Elias's, but a deep, female voice with a polished, aristocratic European accent.
"Greetings, Mr. Mercer," the voice said coldly over the static. "Or should I address Miss Vance? I am Lady Eleanor Vance—your mother."
My heart stopped beating altogether. I stumbled forward, gripping the edge of the console, staring at the flashing red radio light in pure, absolute disbelief.
"Mother?" I whispered, my voice breaking into a breathless gasp. "Mother died... she died when I was six..."
"A convenient lie your father told you to keep you weak, my sweet girl," Eleanor Vance replied over the radio, her tone smooth as silk and cold as ice. "Elias did his part. Now it's time for you to come home to the Sovereign. You have six hours to report to the harbor in Boston, or Mr. Mercer's son will not live to see the sunrise."
The line went dead.
May you like
I spun around and looked through the glass window into the cabin.
Caleb was sitting on the couch, holding his stuffed bear. Resting silently on his small shoulder was a tiny, red laser sight dot coming from somewhere outside the boat.
