Chapter 84 - Bloodline Firewalls
Two miles away in Mayfair, the night exploded in a blinding cascade of blue sparks and pressurized steam.
Through our dashboard tactical monitors in the speeding Suburban, Alexander and I watched the live drone feed hovering above our safehouse. The iron gates had been blown inward by the Iron Wolves, but the moment their lead four-man breaching team stepped onto the cobblestone courtyard, the ground beneath them gave way.
Liam had not merely fortified the estate; he had turned the entire five-acre perimeter into an automated killing ground.
Pressurized subterranean water lines, routed directly from the Thames municipal interceptor, burst upward with thirty atmospheres of force, sweeping two of the heavily armed mercenaries off their feet into the concrete balustrades. A fraction of a second later, Lucas routed fifty thousand volts of commercial grid current directly into the submerged brass ground-plates.
Arcing electricity lit up the Mayfair sky like midday lightning. The lead mercenaries collapsed instantly, their biometric electronics frying in bursts of white smoke.
"Two squads down," Leo’s voice came through, steady and cold. "The remaining two vehicles are backing out onto the street, attempting to deploy mortar fire."
"They won't get the chance," Alexander snarled, leaning out the passenger window of our Suburban as our convoy skidded around the corner of Grosvenor Square.
With two precise, armor-piercing rounds from his Barrett semi-automatic rifle, Alexander blew the engine blocks out of both retreating armored vans. The vehicles shuddered, steam and oil vomiting across the cobblestones, pinning the surviving Iron Wolves between our oncoming convoy and the fortified walls of the estate.
Within three minutes, Alexander’s Vanguard operators had surrounded the wreckage. There was no negotiation. Short, controlled bursts of automatic fire eliminated the remaining resistance.
I didn't wait for the smoke to clear. I kicked open the door of the Suburban before it had even come to a full halt, sprinting through the ruined iron gate toward the subterranean vault entrance.
"Liam! Lucas! Leo! Mia!" I screamed, dropping my empty rifle and drawing my sidearm as I cleared the armored airlock.
The heavy hydraulic vault door groaned, releasing thirty tons of pressurized steel.
Standing in the center of the subterranean command room were my four children. Liam was holding a tactical tablet displaying the London grid; Lucas was calmly unplugging hard drives to prevent thermal tracing; Leo had a compact tactical shotgun resting on the workbench beside him; and little Mia was holding her favorite teddy bear in one hand and a remote detonator in the other.
The moment they saw me, the tactical discipline vanished.
"Mommy!" Mia cried, dropping the detonator and sprinting across the reinforced floor.
I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around her tiny body, pulling Liam, Lucas, and Leo into my chest with a ferocity that bruised. They were shaking, but they were alive. Not a scratch on them.
"You're safe," I whispered into Liam's hair, my tears finally spilling over against my will. "Mommy’s here. You're safe."
"We held them, Mom," Liam whispered into my shoulder, his small hands clutching the back of my tactical vest. "We kept the vault locked. But Arthur... he sent a file."
I pulled back, looking into Liam’s serious, brilliant gray eyes—eyes that bore an uncanny resemblance to the sovereign bloodline of Arthur Vance.
"What file, Liam?"
Lucas pointed to the central holo-monitor. On the screen was a live video feed of an offshore platform surrounded by roaring black waves, lit by the glare of industrial burn-off flares. And in the center of the frame, tied to an iron chair over the freezing ocean, was Eleanor Vance.
May you like
Beside her stood Arthur Vance, holding an antique pocket watch.
***
