Chapter 11 - The Fall of the Bishop
Arthur didn't hesitate. He tackled the shooter from behind, both men crashing into the marble balustrade with bone-shattering force. The submachine gun clattered over the railing, discharging a wild burst into the crystal chandelier above.
The operative drew a combat knife, slashing across Arthur’s forearm. White-hot pain flashed along Arthur’s nerves, but his grip never loosened. Driven by feral paternal rage, Arthur drove his thumb into the operative’s eye socket through the balaclava mesh until the man shrieked, dropping the blade.
Jax arrived an instant later, neutralizing the second assailant with two clean center-mass shots. The estate lights flickered back on as the secondary isolated circuit kicked in.
Arthur stood breathing heavily, blood dripping from his lacerated arm onto the polished stone floor.
""All clear on the lower levels,"" Jax reported, his face grim. ""We captured one alive. He talked immediately. Eleanor Vance hired them through a shell company in Panama. She’s currently boarding a private chartered flight at the regional airstrip.""
Clara emerged from the basement stairwell, her face pale as she looked at the defeated mercenary. ""My stepmother... she’s running.""
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Arthur pulled a clean linen handkerchief from his pocket and tied it tightly around his bleeding forearm. ""She won't make the tarmac.""
He pulled out his satellite phone and dialed a three-digit private frequency. ""General Hastings. This is Arthur Sterling. Ground every private aircraft departing Sector 4. Airspace lockdown under Homeland Security directive. Now.""
