Chapter 6 - Blood and Microfilm
The metallic click of the pistol hammer echoing in the small private dining room seemed to suspend time itself. Marcus moved with surprising agility for a man his age, lunging sideways to knock the barrel of the gun upward just as a muffled pfft split the air. A small hole appeared in the ornate plaster ceiling, raining white dust onto the linen tablecloth.
Julianna didn’t scream. She didn’t flinch. While Marcus grappled with the intruder, her hand slid smoothly into her blazer pocket, her fingers wrapping around the cold steel handle of a pearl-handled letter opener.
“Who sent you?” Julianna demanded, her voice cutting through the sounds of struggling bodies. “Arthur? Or was it Richard realizing he’s about to be homeless?”
The masked assailant threw Marcus backward into a mahogany sideboard, shattering a crystal decanter, before spinning around to grab Julianna by the collar of her suit. The man’s breath smelled of cheap gin and sulfur.
“You shouldn’t have dug into the port authority accounts, little girl,” the intruder growled, pressing the cold muzzle directly against Julianna’s temple. “The syndicate doesn’t care about your family feud. Hand over the drive or your brains decorate this wall.”
Julianna looked directly into the dark mesh eyeholes of the mask, her pulse remaining remarkably steady. She slowly raised her other hand, holding the encrypted flash drive out as if surrendering.
“You want it?” Julianna whispered. “Take it.”
As the assassin reached out to snatch the drive from her palm, Julianna drove the letter opener downward with vicious precision, sinking the steel blade deep into the fleshy part of the intruder’s forearm. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream, dropping the pistol as blood spurted onto the pristine white carpet.
Marcus was back on his feet instantly, slamming a heavy brass candlestick across the back of the assassin’s head. The man collapsed like a felled oak, hitting the floor with a heavy thud and lying completely motionless.
Marcus breathed heavily, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stared down at the unconscious man. He then looked up at Julianna, who was calmly dusting off her lapel.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Marcus muttered, checking the man’s pulse with his boot. “That wasn’t one of Arthur’s corporate thugs. That’s professional syndicate muscle. Which means someone inside the federal prosecutor’s office just leaked our location.”
Julianna knelt beside the fallen man, using the tip of the letter opener to slice open the lining of his leather jacket. A small gold lapel pin fell out onto the carpet—a silver serpent wrapped around a dagger.
Julianna’s face went entirely white.
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“My mother wore that exact pin the night she disappeared,” Julianna whispered, her hands trembling for the very first time.
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