Chapter 8: The Gates of Blackwood
The heavy armored SUV smashed through the rusted iron gates of Blackwood Point like a sledgehammer through rotten wood, sending iron spikes and rusted hinges flying into the dark coastal brush. The two black security vans parked across the access road rocked violently from the impact, their side panels caving inward as Arthur plowed the vehicle straight between them, clearing the checkpoint with a screech of tortured metal and screaming tires.
Inside the cabin, the dashboard alarms chimed frantically, and the airbags deployed briefly in the rear, but Arthur kept his foot planted firmly on the floorboards, guiding the heavy machine up the winding, overgrown cliffside driveway toward the charred, skeletal remains of the original Vance family mansion.
“Subtle as always, Artie!” Raymond shouted over the roar of the engine, bracing himself against the door handle as the SUV fishtailed on the damp gravel before finally coming to a halt in the overgrown central courtyard.
The courtyard was dominated by a crumbling stone fountain choked with dead leaves and surrounded by stark, gothic architecture silhouetted against the pale moonlight. Three more tactical operatives emerged from the shadows of the ruined portico, raising their suppressed rifles instantly as the SUV doors swung open.
Arthur didn't wait for them to issue a warning. He exited the driver’s side low, using the heavy steel door as cover, and fired twice through the twilight with his Glock. The first operative dropped instantly, clutching his shoulder with a sharp gasp, while the other two scrambled for cover behind the stone rim of the ruined fountain.
Raymond vaulted out of the passenger side, rolling smoothly across the hood of the SUV before coming to a crouch behind a marble pillar, returning suppressive fire into the fountain’s stone basin with a submachine gun he had pulled from the vehicle’s floor rack.
“They’ve got the basement bulkhead rigged with motion sensors!” Raymond shouted across the gunfire. “If we trip the alarms, Henderson floods the lower chambers with nitrogen gas!”
Arthur calculated the angles instantly. He sprinted in a low, tactical zigzag across the open courtyard, ignoring the burning ache in his seventy-eight-year-old joints, using every scrap of architectural debris for cover until he reached the heavy oak service door that led directly down into the old sub-basement of Sector Four.
The door was locked with a modern electronic keypad glowing with a soft blue LED light.
“Cover me!” Arthur ordered, pulling a small, black electronic decoding box from his suit pocket and slamming its magnetic leads against the metal keypad housing.
Raymond laid down a heavy wall of lead, keeping the remaining operatives pinned behind the fountain as the decoder’s screen flashed rapidly through hundreds of digital combinations per second.
The LED light flickered from blue to green with a sharp, electronic chime.
Arthur grabbed the heavy brass handle, wrenched the door open, and pulled his brother inside just as a hail of bullets splintered the wood where they had been standing a fraction of a second before.
The heavy iron door slammed shut behind them, plunging the dark concrete stairwell into absolute, suffocating silence.
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Raymond flicked on a small tactical flashlight attached to his weapon, the narrow beam cutting through the damp, dust-filled air of the underground bunker.
“Welcome home, Artie,” Raymond whispered, his voice echoing eerily off the curved concrete walls. “Now let’s go find your daughter-in-law before Henderson realizes we’re inside his perimeter.”
