Chapter 4 - The Tactical Breach
The heavy sound of metal meeting bone echoed through the study.
Donald didn't even scream. His body went limp immediately, slumping forward onto the mahogany desk, his forehead hitting the keyboard with a dull thud that caused the security monitors to flicker.
I dropped the bloody statue, my hands shaking so violently I could barely breathe.
"Donald?" a crackling voice came through his fallen radio headset. "Donald, come in. The lead vehicle isn't stopping. Repeat, the lead vehicle isn't stopping—"
I reached across Donald’s unconscious body, ignoring the blood oozing from his head, and grabbed the master control panel mounted on the wall behind the desk.
I flipped the red glass cover open and slammed my palm onto the toggle switch marked PERIMETER GATE - MANUAL OVERRIDE DE-ENERGIZATION.
A loud, deep hum vibrated through the floorboards as the high-voltage electromagnetic locks on the heavy iron front gates six hundred yards away disengaged completely.
On the security screen, the lead tactical SUV didn't even slow down. It rammed the unlocked iron gates at full speed, swinging them wide open like paper doors.
Two more black tactical vehicles followed right behind it, tearing up the manicured green lawn, their high-powered spotlights blinding the private security guards who were running toward them with drawn sidearms.
"Federal agents! Drop your weapons!" a voice boomed through an external loudspeaker, echoing across the six-acre estate like thunder. "Drop your weapons immediately!"
Downstairs, the classical string music abruptly stopped.
Screams broke out in the grand ballroom as wealthy guests realized that the party was over.
I stumbled out of the study, gripping the hallway wall for support. The adrenaline that had sustained me through the attack on Donald was fading rapidly, leaving me cold, nauseous, and lightheaded.
I made it to the top of the grand staircase overlooking the foyer.
Below me, chaos had erupted.
Guests in tuxedos and evening gowns were running frantically toward the rear exits, shoving past caterers and security personnel.
In the center of the foyer stood Vance, his mother Beatrice, and his father Arthur.
Arthur was screaming into his cell phone, his face red with rage. "I don't care who they say they are! Tell the private detail to open fire! We have diplomatic protection through the offshore entity—"
The massive double front doors of the mansion were blown inward with a deafening flashbang explosion.
Blinding white light and concussive sound filled the grand foyer. Glass chandelier drops rained down like hot hail.
"FEDERAL TACTICAL RESPONSE! ON THE GROUND! EVERYONE ON THE GROUND NOW!"
Black-clad tactical operators armed with assault rifles flooded through the smoke, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting through the haze with blinding precision.
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In the front of the stack was a tall operator wearing heavy body armor, his tactical helmet bearing the gold insignia of a senior federal commander.
Marcus.
