Part 4: The Infiltrators
The red strobe lights inside the main security hub flashed in an erratic, pulsing rhythm.
Chris stood hunched over the main console, his fingers flying across the dual monitors as live feeds from the security cameras flickered to life. “Boss! We’ve got movement at the southern gatehouse. Three men, heavily armed, wearing night-vision goggles and ballistic vests. They bypassed the external cameras using a signal jammer!”
“They didn’t bypass the thermal grid,” Michael said, his voice ice-cold as he walked into the hub, stepping up behind Chris. “Where are they now?”
“Moving through the rose garden, hugging the western wall. They’re heading straight for the ground-floor service entrance near the kitchen.” Chris glanced up, sweat beading on his forehead. “Should I activate the automated defense turrets?”
“No,” Michael replied instantly. “Keep the turrets offline. I want them inside the house.”
Chris stared at him in disbelief. “Inside? Boss, there are three of them, and they’re carrying suppressed automatic rifles. If they breach the interior—”
“If they stay outside, they’ll call for reinforcements when they realize the perimeter is too fortified,” Michael interrupted, his eyes fixed on the fuzzy infrared feed showing three ghostly figures creeping across the patio. “If we let them in, we control the kill zone. Lock down every exit except the main kitchen hallway. Turn off the interior lights in wings B and C. Let them think the house is asleep.”
“Understood,” Chris muttered, his fingers hitting the master lockdown switch. Heavy steel shutters dropped over every exterior window with a heavy thud, plunging the lower level into pitch blackness.
Upstairs in the secure suite, Sarah was clutching Noah tightly against her chest. The sudden, muffled sound of the steel shutters dropping echoed through the walls like distant thunder. The baby stirred, whimpering softly in his sleep, but the fever had broken, leaving his skin cool and damp against her palm.
“Please, God, keep us safe,” she whispered into the dark, her eyes fixed on the heavy steel door.
Downstairs, the silence of the Cavada estate was absolute—the kind of quiet that precedes a violent storm.
Through the infrared cameras, Michael watched as the lead intruder—a tall, heavily built operative with a distinctive scorpion tattoo visible on the back of his exposed neck—raised a glass-cutter to the side panel of the kitchen door.
Scratch. Tap.
The glass gave way silently. A gloved hand reached through, unlatched the deadbolt, and pushed the door open.
One by one, the three men slipped into the darkened kitchen. They moved with military precision, weapon barrels scanning left and right, boots making barely a whisper against the polished tile floor.
The leader gestured with two fingers, signaling a split. Two men veered toward the main hallway leading to the grand staircase, while the leader stayed near the center island, his weapon raised, eyes scanning the shadows.
Michael stood alone in the dark corridor just past the pantry, blending seamlessly into the black paneling of the wall. He wore a matte-black tactical turtleneck, his breathing slow and controlled. He could hear the soft crunch of tactical boots on the hardwood floor just twenty feet away.
Ten feet.
Five feet.
The intruder passed Michael’s blind spot, turning his back for a split second.
It was all the invitation Michael needed.
In one fluid, explosive motion, Michael stepped out of the shadows, wrapped his left arm around the operative’s throat in a crushing chokehold, and slammed the man’s head hard against the oak wall.
The man dropped instantly, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
Michael caught the man’s rifle before it clattered against the tiles, lowering it silently. He stripped the dead-weight operative of his spare magazines, slipped a comms earpiece out of the man’s ear, and pressed it into his own.
Static crackled in his ear.
“Viper Two, report. Sector clear?” a raspy voice hissed through the earpiece. It was the second operative further down the hall.
Michael pressed a button on the side of the earpiece, deepening his voice slightly to match the heavy breathing of the downed man. “Sector clear. Moving toward the grand staircase now.”
“Copy that. Boss wants that drive recovered before sunrise. If the target is uncooperative, eliminate everyone in the house. No loose ends.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. Eliminate everyone. That included Sarah. That included Noah.
May you like
A cold, lethal fury settled deep in Michael’s chest. Victor Vance had just signed his own death warrant.
Michael adjusted his grip on the Sig Sauer, stepped over the unconscious operative, and moved down the dark hallway like a ghost hunting in the night.
