Chapter 9 - The Siege of Blackwood Hall
Before Sterling's finger could touch the tablet screen, my earbud radio crackled to life with a burst of static.
"CRITICAL HIT! WE HAVE EMILY!" Marcus’s voice roared through the earpiece. "HOSPITAL TEAM NEUTRALIZED! REPEAT, EMILY IS SECURE AND IN THE AMBULANCE!"
Sterling froze, his finger hovering half an inch above the glass screen.
A massive, slow smile spread across my face.
"You forgot one fundamental military rule, Charles," I said quietly, taking one step forward. "Never assume you're the only commander on the battlefield who knows how to execute a joint operation."
Sterling's face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated rage. He lunged across the desk, grabbing a nickel-plated .45 pistol hidden beneath a leather blotter.
BANG!
I fired a single round from my M4.
The 5.56 bullet shattered the nickel-plated pistol out of Sterling's hand, tearing through his palm and sending him flying backward out of his chair onto the oriental rug, screaming in agony as blood splattered across his pristine white shirt.
"GUARDFORCE! IN HERE! KILL HIM!" Sterling shrieked, clutching his ruined hand against his chest.
The heavy mahogany doors behind me blew open as four tactical guards burst into the room with weapons raised.
I didn't turn around. I dropped flat onto the floor, rolling beneath the massive mahogany desk as a hail of submachine-gun fire tore through the air where I had been standing milliseconds before.
Glass shattered, wood splintered, and ancient paintings were ripped to shreds by automatic fire.
From beneath the desk, I aimed my carbine at the guards' exposed legs, firing six rapid rounds. Two guards collapsed to the floor with shattered kneecaps, screaming in pain.
I kicked out from under the desk, sweeping the feet of the third guard, driving my combat knife into his vest seam before springing up to slam my elbow into the fourth guard's throat.
The room went dead silent again.
I stood over the four fallen mercenaries, my chest heaving, smoke curling from the barrel of my weapon.
Sterling was crawling frantically across the floor toward the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him.
I walked over slowly, my combat boots crunching on the glass shards littering the floor. I grabbed him by his collar, hoisting his heavy, trembling body off the floor and pinning him against the bulletproof glass window.
Outside, down the mountain road, three dark blue SUVs with flashing red and blue lights were speeding up the driveway, followed by two massive federal tactical command transports.
Sarah’s data ledger had hit the Department of Justice servers ten minutes ago. The FBI's Hostage Rescue Team and the Pentagon's Inspector General were arriving to seize Blackwood Hall.
Sterling looked out the window at the flashing lights, then looked back at me, his eyes filled with a pitiful, pathetic terror.
"Richard... please," Sterling whimpered, coughing up blood. "We were brothers-in-arms... we served together... don't let them take me like this..."
I pulled the silver thumb drive from my chest pocket—the drive containing thirty years of Project Vanguard files—and held it in front of his face.
"You were never my brother, Charles," I said, my voice as cold as the rain outside. "You were just a traitor hiding behind a uniform."
I dropped him to the floor as the heavy oak doors were kicked open one last time—not by mercenaries, but by a team of twenty heavily armed FBI tactical operators with flashlights blinding the room.
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"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPON!" a voice boomed through a megaphone.
I slowly set my M4 on the desk, raised my hands, and stepped back into the shadows as the agents swarmed over Charles Sterling, clicking steel handcuffs onto his bloody wrists.
