THE GENERAL, THE BROKER, AND THE FIVE THOUSAND SECRETS THAT WOULD DESTROY US ALL

The explosive concussive wave ripped through the living room, shattering the remaining glass windows into a million glittering shards that rained down like deadly crystal. Elena screamed, covering her head as she was thrown violently against the bookshelf, the heavy satellite transmitter flying from her grip across the floor.

Smoke billowed thick and choking through the shattered patio doors, turning the bright living room into a dark, suffocating battlefield. Through the smoke, three more figures clad in slate-grey tactical vests poured into the room, their weapons raised and sweeping the space.

David struggled on the floor, wrestling with Sarah for control of her silenced carbine. She managed to strike him across the temple with the butt of the weapon, sending him sprawling backward against the mahogany table.

Clara stood her ground amidst the swirling debris, her short grey hair blowing back from the force of the indoor wind. She gripped her wooden cane with white knuckles, swinging it with surprising speed and precision to strike the nearest operative across the knee. The man grunted in pain, stumbling back against the sofa.

"Get the microchip!" Sarah barked from the floor, clutching her bruised arm as she glared at Clara. "Tear the house apart if you have to, but find that chip!"

Elena scrambled on her hands and knees across the glass-strewn floor, her eyes locked on the blinking red light of the satellite transmitter that had skidded beneath the velvet sofa. Her fingers grazed the cold metal casing just as a heavy combat boot slammed down on the floor inches from her hand.

She looked up slowly, following the leg of the uniform upward until she found herself staring directly into the cold, impassive eyes of a tall, scarred operative holding a heavy breaching shotgun.

"Found it," the operative muttered into his comm-link.

Before the operative could reach down to grab Elena, Clara lunged forward with her cane, driving the hardened wooden tip straight into the man’s tactical vest with enough force to knock the wind completely out of his lungs. He collapsed backward over the coffee table, sending the leather-bound ledger flying into the air.