Chapter 11 - The Clearing of the Hall
The first two guards died before they realized the shadows had moved.
Dante stepped behind them at the junction of the east gallery. With terrifying efficiency, he caught the first man in a rear-naked choke, snapping the cervical vertebrae with a sudden, violent torque of his forearms, while driving his combat knife upward beneath the jaw of the second. Both men collapsed into the plush Persian carpet without making a sound.
Dante stripped their spare magazines and smoke canisters, moving with the practiced cadence of a ghost. Every corner of this house had been his fortress for fifteen years. He knew the dead spots where the security cameras couldn't reach; he knew which floorboards creaked under sixty kilos of pressure; he knew how sound traveled through the ventilation shafts.
He reached the grand foyer.
The chandeliers had been switched back on, their harsh light pouring over the diamond-patterned marble. In the center of the hall, Atlas still lay motionless. Two guards were carelessly attaching heavy nylon straps around the dog’s paws, preparing to drag the massive corpse out toward the incinerator like trash.
A red haze washed over Dante's vision.
He stepped into the open doorway. ""Take your hands off him.""
The two guards spun around, reaching for their holstered sidearms. Dante fired two bursts from his rifle. Both men were slammed backward against the marble columns, collapsing into still heaps beside the dog.
Dante walked forward, the barrel of his rifle smoking in the cool air. He knelt beside Atlas one last time. He gently closed the dog's unblinking amber eyes with the palm of his hand.
""Rest now, boy,"" Dante whispered. ""I'll take the watch.""
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From the dining hall down the corridor, the heavy doors banged open. A dozen heavily armed mercenaries poured into the hall, weapons drawn.
And behind them, dressed in a fresh white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, walked Julian Vance, a glass of bourbon in his uninjured left hand.
