Chapter 9 - The Suffocating Dark
The Halon gas surged downward like an invisible tidal wave, instantly displacing the oxygen in the room.
Marcus dropped the inert detonator, gasping and clutching his throat as the air was sucked from his lungs. His vision blurred, tears streaming down his face as the extinguishing agent burned his eyes. He fumbled wildly for the sidearm in his shoulder holster, knocking the crystal decanter off the desk, sending liquor splashing across the carpet.
Julian moved through the fog with lethal certainty. He had anticipated the discharge; holding his breath, he dove low beneath the dense gas layer, sweeping his arm across the floor until his fingers found the barrel of the carbine.
He rolled onto his back, kicking hard upward into Marcus's knee.
Bone cracked with a sickening snap. Marcus screamed, a ragged, airless sound, collapsing heavily onto the mahogany desk. Julian sprang to his feet, lunging through the haze to drive his elbow into Marcus's jaw. The impact sent the broker sprawling across the shattered glass on the floor.
Julian clamped his hand over Marcus's throat, pinning him to the marble border of the hearth. ""It's over,"" Julian snarled, his lungs burning for air.
Marcus coughed violently, blood frothing at the corner of his lips. Despite the crushing grip on his windpipe, a twisted, broken laugh tore from his throat. ""You... you think it's over? Look... look at your screens, Julian.""
Julian dragged Marcus by his collar, dragging him through the study door into the hallway where the air was still breathable. He slammed Marcus against the wall, his gaze flicking toward the central security monitors embedded in the corridor pillar.
The emergency power had restored the feeds.
On the screen showing the southern tree line, three black SUVs were barreling through the estate's iron gates, having rammed them entirely off their hinges. On the screen showing the panic room outside the library, Miller lay motionless on the marble, his hands empty.
Standing in front of the reinforced safe room door was a woman dressed in a crisp grey overcoat, holding a handheld plasma torch to the lock mechanism.
May you like
Julian’s blood ran cold. The woman turned toward the security camera, offering a faint, mocking smile.
It was Claire’s mother, Eleanor Vance.
