Chapter 77 - The Gate of Iron
There was no elegance to the breach. Marcus triggered an EMP charge he had patched into the perimeter transformer station, plunging the northern quadrant of the estate into sudden, violent pitch-black darkness.
"Move!" he hissed.
We sprinted through the gap in the electrified fence just as the automated backup generators kicked on with a low, hydraulic hum. Gunfire erupted from the southern watchtower—short, controlled bursts that gouged deep furrows in the frozen earth around our feet. Marcus spun, firing twice through the tower’s plexiglass window; the guard collapsed over the parapet, dropping his rifle onto the gravel below.
We hit the service entrance beneath the kitchen terrace. Marcus blew the electronic maglock with a shaped thermite charge that burned through the steel bolt in a fountain of blinding white sparks.
Inside, the castle smelled of floor wax, old parchment, and the distinct, coppery tang of recent blood.
We moved like ghosts through the servants' corridors, bypassing the grand halls where shouts and boots echoed off marble floors. Marcus neutralized two private security contractors in the stairwell—brisk, lethal, silent strikes that left both men unconscious on the landing.
We reached the third floor: the private quarters. The heavy oak door of the master suite was guarded by a single man—not a mercenary, but a distinguished-looking man in a tailored three-piece suit holding a suppressed Walther PPK.
"Marcus," the man said smoothly, not raising the gun. "I wondered if you would make it past the outer fence. You always were Vance’s most stubborn hound."
"Step aside, Chancellor," Marcus said, keeping his rifle leveled at the man’s forehead.
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"You're too late, boy," the Chancellor murmured, stepping aside with a faint, mocking smile. "The Archon has already conducted the first phase of the extraction. Go inside, Emily. Your mother has been waiting for you."
I pushed the door open, my heart hammering in my ears like a war drum.
