Chapter 4 - The Fortress Shatters
1:15 AM. The Moretti Estate, River Oaks, Houston.
A thick, autumn fog rolled across the manicured lawns of the five-acre estate. Rain fell in a steady, silent drizzle, slicking the slate roofs and stone driveways.
Outside the ten-foot wrought-iron perimeter wall, six dark federal vans sat idling in the shadows, their lights completely blacked out. Thirty Federal Tactical Officers dressed in night-vision gear waited for my signal.
I crouched in the tree line near the northwest corner of the estate, wearing a full tactical kit, an earpiece humming with encrypted radio chatter.
"Team One in position," Kane's voice whispered in my ear. "Team Two holding at the rear gate. Gavin, you have the green light for perimeter bypass."
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a handheld frequency cloner, and attached it to the exterior junction box hidden behind a decorative brick pillar. Five years had passed, but Dominic hadn't changed the master security protocols—his arrogance was his fatal flaw.
I typed in the override sequence my mind had held onto through five years of death row: $7-4-1-9-8-2-C-L-O-E$.
Click.
The heavy infrared motion sensors along the northwest wall flickered off for a thirty-second window.
"Perimeter clear," I whispered into my mic. "Go."
Within three seconds, ten federal tactical officers scaled the wall like shadows, dropping silently onto the soft turf inside. We moved in a tight, disciplined wedge formation toward the rear entrance of the three-story Mediterranean mansion.
Suddenly, a heavy spotlight snapped on from the second-story balcony.
"INTRUDERS! FRONT LAWN!" a voice screamed over the estate’s outdoor loudspeakers.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the fog. The sharp, deafening chatter of automatic gunfire tore through the quiet neighborhood night. Bullets chewed through the stone pillars and shattered the glass fixtures along the patio.
"SUPPRESSING FIRE! MOVE! MOVE!" Kane roared through the radio.
The federal assault team unleashed a wall of return fire, flashbang grenades detonating with thunderous CRACKS that shattered every window on the ground floor. White smoke poured across the patio as officers breached the sliding glass doors.
While the firefight raged in the main foyer, I separated from the main entry team, slipping down the narrow carpeted hallway leading toward the estate's private executive library.
I knew where Dominic would go. He was a coward at heart. When the world collapsed around him, he always ran to his father’s old reinforced vault hidden behind the library bookcase.
I pushed the heavy mahogany doors of the library open, my suppressed Glock raised, moving with fluid, silent lethal precision.
The library was dim, lit only by the flickering red lights of an emergency alarm. The heavy floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the far wall were swung wide open, revealing a heavy steel reinforced safe door.
Standing in front of the open safe, wildly throwing stacks of bearer bonds and passport folders into a leather duffel bag, was Detective Raymond Burke.
His police uniform was gone, replaced by a crumpled tracksuit. He looked frantic, sweating profusely, a heavy $.357\text{ Magnum}$ revolver tucked into his waistband.
"Packing for a long trip, Detective?" I asked, my voice cutting through the red glare of the alarm.
Burke froze instantly.
He spun around, his hand frantically reaching for the revolver at his belt.
THWIP-THWIP.
Two suppressed rounds slammed directly into the shoulder joint of his right arm. The force knocked him backward against the steel safe door. His revolver clattered uselessly onto the Persian rug.
Burke screamed in agony, clutching his shattered shoulder, sliding down the steel frame to the floor, gasping for air.
He looked up through tears of pain. When his eyes landed on my face, his jaw dropped in sheer, unadulterated terror.
"Gavin..." Burke whimpered, his teeth chattering, his skin turning ash-gray. "No... no, you're... you were executed yesterday... you're dead..."
"I survived the needle, Raymond," I said, stepping closer, my weapon trained directly between his eyes. "Which is more than I can say for your career."
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Before Burke could speak, a shadowy figure stepped out from the dark interior of the safe room behind him, holding a heavy submachine gun aimed directly at my chest.
Dominic Moretti.
