Chapter 9 - Into the Undertow
The access tunnel beneath the cathedral was damp, smelling of sewage and rusted iron. Water dripped from forgotten conduit pipes, splashing softly against Elena’s bare feet as she moved in the darkness.
Behind her, Vincent and four Vance operators maintained point-to-rear security, their night-vision goggles casting an eerie green wash over the subterranean corridors. Chad followed closely behind, clutching his broken wrist, a pathetic remnant of his former grandeur.
Up ahead, echoing down the long, vaulted brick passage, came the harsh staccato of heated argument.
""You guaranteed me safe passage to the coast!"" Charles Sterling’s voice bounced off the dripping brickwork, reeking of hysteria. ""I gave you the routing numbers for the Swiss accounts! You swore I would be on that cargo freighter by midnight!""
""Shut up, Charles,"" Julian’s calm, cultured voice replied, barely raised above a whisper yet terrifyingly clear. ""You are an obsolete asset. You failed to secure the Vance girl, you lost your family's empire in less than forty minutes, and you brought a war to my doorstep.""
Elena signaled for her team to halt. She pressed her back against the curved brick wall of an intersection, peering around the corner.
Fifty feet ahead, the tunnel opened into an abandoned freight loading dock, lit by battery-powered halogen work lights. A black armored van sat idling, its exhaust billowing into the cold air. Standing by the rear doors was Julian Thorne, holding an umbrella despite being underground, surrounded by six heavily armed mercenaries.
Kneeling on the concrete platform, her hands tied behind her back and a black silk gag in her mouth, was Victoria Sterling—Chad’s mother. Beside her, Charles was begging on his knees, clutching Julian’s polished leather shoes.
""Julian, please,"" Charles wept. ""Just let Victoria and me take the van. Keep the money. Keep everything.""
Julian looked down at Charles with profound disgust. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a gold-plated semi-automatic pistol, and racked the slide with a clean, metallic clack.
""A man who cannot control his own household,"" Julian said, leveling the barrel between Charles’s eyes, ""cannot be trusted with a fortune.""
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Before Julian could pull the trigger, a voice cut through the dark from the rafters above.
""Then it's a good thing I control mine.""
