Chapter 8
"Cover the package!" Jax shouted to his nearest tactical operative as he sprinted toward the grand marble staircase leading to the upper mezzanine.
Two armed guards rushed forward, throwing a heavy blast-containment blanket over the silver gift box while the remaining guests cowered behind thick stone pillars. Jax vaulted up the first flight of stairs three steps at a time, his navy blue suit jacket flapping behind him. His combat boots pounded against the marble, echoing through the cavernous space of the ballroom below.
He reached the upper gallery, bursting through a pair of velvet-draped arches into the dimly lit hallway of the VIP suites. The corridor stretched out in both directions, plush red carpet dampening the sound of footsteps. Dust motes danced in the pale light filtering through high arched windows that looked out over the city skyline.
Silence hung heavy in the hallway, broken only by the sound of Jax’s own controlled, heavy breathing.
He drew his sidearm, holding it close to his chest as he cleared the first corner. Empty. A row of heavy mahogany doors lined the hallway, leading to private viewing rooms and executive lounges. Every single door was latched shut.
Jax moved with calculated precision, slicing the pie around each corner, his tattooed hands steady on the grip of his weapon. He knew the layout of the Grandview complex by heart; he had personally overseen its security audit three months prior. There were only two ways off this level: the main staircase he had just ascended, and a service elevator located at the far eastern end of the corridor.
If the saboteur was heading for the service elevator, he was heading straight into a dead end unless he had overridden the master control system.
Jax broke into a fast, silent jog, hugging the wall as he approached the eastern wing. The air here felt cooler, smelling faintly of ozone and industrial cleaning agents. As he rounded the final corner, a faint metallic clink echoed from the direction of the service elevator shaft.
He froze, pressing his back against the mahogany-paneled wall. He listened intently. Someone was trying to force the manual override hatch of the elevator shaft.
Jax crept forward, his boots making no sound on the thick carpet. Peering around the edge of the corridor wall, he saw him.
It was the same man in the midnight-blue tuxedo who had brazenly confronted him downstairs near the pillar. The man had discarded his suit jacket, revealing a tactical harness strapped tightly across a black compression shirt. In his hands, he held a heavy pneumatic bypass tool, driving it directly into the control panel of the elevator shaft with ruthless efficiency.
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"End of the line," Jax said, his deep voice cutting sharply through the quiet corridor as he stepped out with his weapon raised and trained squarely on the man's chest.
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