Chapter 4 - The Midnight Sweep
The rain had intensified, turning the ground around the lower security trailer into a thick, muddy swamp.
The security trailer sat near the western edge of the fifty-acre estate, surrounded by high pine trees and heavy equipment sheds.
Adrian walked down the gravel path, flanked by Claire.
She moved beside him with fluid, terrifying silence. Despite her broad frame, her boots made no sound against the wet stones. She walked with her right hand hovering two inches above her hip, her eyes scanning the dark treeline with practiced precision.
“He has three guards inside the trailer with him,” Adrian murmured, keeping his eyes on the lit window of the mobile unit. “All former military.”
“They’re not the problem,” Claire replied softly under her breath. “The problem is the external feed terminal. If Frank realizes he’s exposed, he has a hardwired kill-switch that can wipe the mansion’s main servers in four seconds.”
Adrian stopped near a large oak tree twenty yards from the trailer.
“How do you want to handle it?” he asked.
It was the first time in four years Adrian Mercer had asked anyone else for tactical input.
Claire turned to him, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the security floodlights.
“You walk in the front door,” Claire instructed. “Ask him for an update on the perimeter sweep. Keep his eyes on you for ten seconds. I’ll handle the rear server panel.”
Before Adrian could answer, she slipped into the shadows of the pine trees, vanishing as if she had been dissolved into the dark air.
Adrian took a deep breath, adjusted his wool coat, and walked straight toward the aluminum stairs of the trailer.
He pulled the heavy door open and stepped inside.
The trailer smelled of stale coffee, tobacco smoke, and warm electronics.
Frank Vance was sitting behind a bank of eight monitors, wearing his headset, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. Three guards sat on folding chairs near the back, cleaning their sidearms.
“Mr. Mercer!” Frank said, jumping out of his chair, pulling his headset down. “Sir, you shouldn't be out here. The perimeter isn't fully secured yet.”
“I need an update, Frank,” Adrian said smoothly, stepping into the center of the room, taking up as much physical space as possible. “Did the state police set up the roadblocks on Route 9?”
“Yes, sir,” Frank lied smoothly, adjusting his tactical belt. “Units are stationed at every intersection within a five-mile radius. We’re monitoring the radio chatter right now.”
Adrian looked at the second monitor on Frank’s desk.
The screen showed the rear server panel outside the trailer.
A soft shadow moved across the camera feed.
One second.
The trailer’s main overhead fluorescent lights flickered once and died, plunging the room into pitch blackness.
“What the—” one of the guards shouted, his hand flying to his holster.
Before the guard could clear his weapon, the rear door of the trailer was kicked open with a thunderous CRACK.
Claire stepped through the threshold like a force of nature.
In the dim red emergency light, she moved with terrifying, brutal efficiency.
She caught the first guard’s wrist before his gun was clear, twisting his arm back while driving her elbow into his solar plexus. The man collapsed instantly, gasping for air.
The second guard lunged forward with a collapsible baton. Claire stepped inside his strike, caught his shoulder, and slammed his head violently against the metal wall frame. He went limp, sliding down to the floor.
Frank Vance drew his weapon, spinning toward the rear entrance.
Pfft!
A single suppressed round tore through the air, striking the barrel of Frank’s pistol, knocking the weapon cleanly out of his hand.
Frank gasped, cradling his numb, bleeding fingers, backing up against the main console.
Adrian stepped forward out of the shadows, grabbed Frank by his collar, and slammed him face-first onto the stainless steel desk.
“Seven years, Frank,” Adrian growled into his ear, his fingers digging into Frank’s neck until the man choked. “I paid for your mother’s cancer treatment. I put your daughter through college.”
“Adrian... please...” Frank choked out, tears mixing with the sweat on his face. “They... they held my family... they said they’d kill them if I didn't turn off the sensors...”
Claire stepped up beside the desk, holding her pistol at her side. She reached out, pulled a small flash drive from Frank’s jacket pocket, and plugged it into her hand-held reader.
She looked at the small screen.
“He’s lying, Mr. Mercer,” Claire said calmly. “The wire transfers from the Delaware account began six months ago. Long before tonight.”
Adrian’s face turned to stone.
May you like
He pulled Frank off the desk, dragging him toward the door.
“Lock him in the lower wine cellar,” Adrian ordered as two loyal guards—men who had arrived with the late security detail—ran up the trailer steps. “And call Arthur’s old contact at the federal prosecutor’s office. It’s time we cleaned house.”
