Chapter 5 - THE PANIC VAULT
The sub-basement panic vault of Cedarhaven was built six feet beneath the solid granite bedrock of Long Island.
Constructed with twelve-inch reinforced titanium-steel walls, an independent air-filtration system, and a dedicated satellite communications terminal, it was designed to withstand a military siege for three months.
The heavy steel door sealed shut with a deep, pneumatic hiss, cutting off the chaotic sounds of gunfire, shattering glass, and shouting from the floors above.
Bennett set Maya down on a leather sofa inside the carpeted vault room. Evelyn was already there, sat trembling on an adjacent armchair, clutching a glass of water that Walter had handed her.
Maya looked around the sterile, steel-walled room, hugging Button tightly against her lap. “Is this a basement?”
“It’s a special room,” Bennett said, kneeling in front of her. He reached out, gently wiping a streak of dust from her cheek. “It’s the safest room in the world.”
“Where are you going?” Maya asked, noticing the tactical vest Bennett was strapping over his chest, filling the mag pouches with heavy steel magazines.
Bennett looked at her, his dark eyes softening for a fleeting second. “I have to go clean up the mess upstairs, Maya. Some bad men forgot whose house they entered.”
“Will you come back?” she asked softly, her small fingers reaching out to grab the edge of his leather belt.
Bennett took her tiny hand, holding it against his cheek, letting her feel the rough stubble of his jawline. “I will always come back for you, Maya. Always.”
He stood up, turning to Walter, who was standing by the control console, monitoring the estate’s closed-circuit camera feed.
“What’s the situation upstairs?” Bennett demanded.
“The strike team came in two waves, sir,” Walter reported, pointing at six active camera monitors on the wall. “The airborne team hit the south lawn, but a second ground team breached the main gates using an armored ram truck. We’ve neutralized eleven Mercenaries, but they brought thirty men. They’ve pushed through the grand foyer and are attempting to breach the lower floor security doors.”
Bennett walked over to the weapon rack mounted against the titanium wall. He bypassed his handguns, reaching for a sleek, short-barreled tactical shotgun and four high-capacity drums of heavy breaching slugs.
“They think I’m playing defense,” Bennett growled, loading the drum into the shotgun with a lethal, mechanical click. “They think I’m hiding in a hole with my child.”
“Sir,” Walter warned. “The local police precinct received three dozen calls about the gunfire. Federal units are going to be on the property within twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes is nineteen minutes more than I need,” Bennett said coldly.
He turned to Evelyn. “Stay here with Walter. Keep the door sealed from the inside. Do not open it for anyone unless you hear my code phrase over the intercom.”
Evelyn looked at him, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and lingering fear. “Bennett... what is the code phrase?”
Bennett looked over at Maya, who was watching him with wide, solemn eyes.
“Button-With-One-Sock,” Bennett said plainly.
Maya let out a tiny, soft giggle—the first real sound of joy to echo inside Cedarhaven in six years.
Bennett smiled—a true, unforced smile that lit up his dark, rugged face—and then turned sharply, stepping out through the heavy steel vault door as it slid open into the dark concrete corridor beyond.
The door hissed shut behind him.
Bennett racked his shotgun, his face instantly hardening back into the terrifying mask of the most feared mob boss in New York.
He didn't walk toward the stairs. He took the private industrial elevator directly up to the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the grand foyer—the exact location where Julian Moretti’s primary strike force had gathered.
The elevator doors opened silently into the shadows of the upper gallery.
Below him, in the grand entrance hall beneath the shattered crystal chandelier, twelve mercenaries dressed in black tactical gear were laying down suppressive fire toward the security hallway, trying to blow the hinges off the reinforced vault doors.
At the center of the hall, wearing a long trench coat, holding an automatic rifle, stood Julian Moretti himself.
“Find the child!” Julian was screaming to his men over the roar of gunfire. “Find the girl! I want her alive! I want Bennett to watch me take her!”
Bennett stepped out onto the balcony railing above them, looking down at the man who had ordered the bombing six years ago, the man who had threatened his daughter.
“Julian,” Bennett’s voice boomed down from the darkness of the ceiling like the judgment of an angry god.
May you like
Every mercenary in the foyer froze, swinging their weapons upward toward the balcony.
Bennett didn't take cover. He raised his heavy shotgun and pulled the trigger.
