Chapter 5 - The Shadow Syndicate
“Thomas!” Daniel shouted into his lapel radio, scooping Leo into his arms.
Static screamed through the receiver, followed by the harsh rattle of suppressed automatic gunfire from the ground floor.
“Sir—perimeter compromised!” Thomas’s voice crackled through the speaker, ragged and breathless. “They didn't use the gates—they came up from the cliffside boat launch! Three teams, military-grade gear! They’ve cut the main power and jammed external cell bands!”
Julian Thorne wasn't waiting for Monday morning.
With the altar scheme shredded and the police closing in, the syndicate had shifted from covert infiltration to brutal scorched-earth liquidation. They were here to retrieve the drive, silence the witnesses, and eliminate the Vance line in a single, violent stroke.
“Arthur, are you in the safe room?” Daniel spoke into the radio, backing away from the studio doors toward the heavy dormer window that looked out onto the slate roof.
“I’m in the basement vault with two guards,” Arthur replied, his voice tense but steady. “Daniel, St. Jude’s police response is twelve minutes out. The coastal road is blocked by a downed utility pole—they planned this!”
“Twelve minutes is twelve lifetimes,” Daniel said.
He looked at Leo. The boy’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t cry. Clara had passed her quiet, iron resolve into his bones.
“Leo, listen to me carefully,” Daniel said, his voice dropping into a calm, steady register that masked the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Do you remember the escape ladder Mommy built behind the old cedar wardrobe?”
Leo nodded instantly. “The one that goes into the dumbwaiter shaft.”
“Exactly. You go down into the pantry cellar. You lock the latch from the inside, and you stay there until you hear my voice and only my voice. Do not open it for Arthur. Do not open it for the police. Only for me. Understand?”
“What about you, Dad?”
“I’m going to make sure the wolves never come back to this porch again.”
Daniel kissed the crown of Leo’s head and hoisted him into the narrow access panel behind the wardrobe. He heard the boy’s soft footsteps descending into the dark shaft, followed by the faint click of the internal safety bolt.
Daniel turned back toward the studio.
From the shadows beneath Clara’s workbench, he pulled a locked steel case. He entered a six-digit code—Clara’s birthday. Inside lay a black Kimber .45 semi-automatic pistol, two spare magazines, and a heavy brass tactical flashlight. Daniel racked the slide, chambering a round with a satisfying, mechanical *clack*.
May you like
He stepped out into the pitch-black corridor of the third floor just as heavy boots began ascending the grand staircase below.
***
