Chapter 6
Splintered oak and shredded drywall rained down as Elena rolled across the polished hardwood floor of the foyer, coming up hard behind a massive marble pillar. The lead mercenary advanced cautiously, his assault rifle sweeping the perimeter while his two subordinates fanned out to cover the flanks.
"Flush her out!" the leader snarled, gesturing toward the shadowy corridors leading to the dining room.
Elena didn't hesitate. She popped out from behind the pillar, firing two controlled shots that shattered the tactical helmet visor of the flanking mercenary, sending him sprawling backward onto the rug. Before the other two could pivot, she scrambled up the curved staircase, her combat boots finding purchase on the steps with lethal speed.
Bullets whined past her ears, burying themselves deep into the plaster walls. She reached the second-floor landing and pulled a heavy brass fire extinguisher from its wall mount, hurling it down the stairwell. The heavy cylinder struck the second operative squarely in the chest, knocking him off balance and tumbling down the steps into his partner.
"Damn it!" the lead mercenary yelled, emptying the remainder of his magazine into the ceiling as he scrambled for cover.
Elena didn't waste ammunition. She slipped through the double doors of the master study, locking the reinforced deadbolt behind her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her mind remained cold and clinical. These weren't ordinary corporate fixers; they were professional contractors hired by Marcus Sterling to tie up loose ends permanently. If they breached the study, she and Clara would not survive the morning.
Moving quickly to the heavy mahogany desk, Elena pulled open the bottom drawer and lifted a false wooden bottom. Beneath it lay a satellite-linked tactical radio and a encrypted hardline terminal connected directly to a private security firm in Geneva. She punched in a priority override code—a distress signal Julian had established specifically for this scenario.
A synthesized voice chimed from the terminal: Signal received. Backup inbound. ETA twelve minutes.
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Twelve minutes. She had to keep the intruders occupied for twelve minutes without letting them anywhere near the East Wing panic room where Mrs. Gable and Clara were hiding.
Outside the study door, the heavy brass doorknob rattled violently. A sharp, rhythmic banging echoed through the wood, followed by the high-pitched whine of a mechanical cutting torch. Sparks began to shower across the threshold as the cutting head bit into the lock. Elena checked her sidearm—seven rounds left. She stepped back into the shadows of the room, raising her weapon toward the door, her breathing slow and controlled.
