Chapter 3 - Fire and SteelThe mahogany doors of the east wing splintered inward with a deafening crash as a concussion grenade rolled across the corridor floor, detonating with a blinding flash and a shockwave that rattled the antique picture frames off the walls.
Dominic shoved Hannah down behind the reinforced oak base of a heavy marble console just as automatic gunfire chewed through the drywall above them. Plaster dust and wood splinters rained down like heavy snow.
“Stay down!” Dominic shouted over the deafening roar of submachine gun fire, leaning around the corner of the partition and returning fire with disciplined, rhythmic precision. Two muffled thuds echoed down the hall as his targets dropped.
Hannah pressed her hands over her ears, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The chaotic symphony of gunfire brought back every buried nightmare from the night her brother died. But underneath the terror, her analytical mind—the mind of the forensic accountant who had mapped out millions in illicit laundered funds—began calculating angles, ammunition counts, and response times.
“There are at least six of them,” Hannah yelled over the gunfire, crawling across the floor to crouch beside Dominic behind the marble barrier. “They’re using tactical military breaching gear. Private security doesn't carry suppressors like that. These are professionals.”
Dominic ejected the empty magazine from his pistol, slapping a fresh one home with practiced ease. He glanced sideways at her, surprised by her cool assessment amidst the flying lead. “You’ve been through a firefight before?”
“My apartment in Providence was sprayed with fifty rounds of automatic fire before it caught!” she shouted back sarcastically. “Excuse me if I don't panic until the roof actually caves in!”
A fresh volley of bullets slammed into the marble console, sending sparks flying. Dominic peered around the edge, assessing the corridor layout. “The panic shelter is fifty yards down the west corridor. If we make a break for it now while they reload—”
“No!” Hannah grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. “That’s what they’re expecting. Look at the smoke pattern from the flashbang. They have thermal scopes, Dominic. They can see our heat signatures through the drywall partition.”
Dominic looked closer. A faint haze of gray smoke was drifting low along the floorboards, distorting the ambient temperature readings. She was right. Any movement down the open corridor would make them glowing targets.
“Then what do you suggest, genius accountant?” Dominic asked, a grim edge of respect cutting through his tension.
“The service chute behind the linen closet,” Hannah said quickly, pointing toward a narrow doorway ten feet to their left. “It leads straight down to the industrial laundry room in the basement. It’s unmonitored by the main security grid, which means they won't be covering it.”
Dominic didn't hesitate. He grabbed her hand, yanking her up from behind the console. “Move!”
They sprinted through the hail of flying debris, diving headfirst through the narrow service door just as a fresh wave of mercenaries rounded the corner of the grand hallway. Dominic slammed the heavy steel fire door shut behind them, throwing the deadbolt and spinning the combination lock into place.
Inside the cramped, dim interior of the vertical laundry chute, the sound of the battle became muffled to a dull, concussive thud.
“Down,” Dominic commanded, opening the metal hatch that dropped vertically into the darkness below.
“I’m not sliding down a metal pipe in a maid’s uniform!” Hannah protested, staring into the pitch-black drop.
“You want to stay here and discuss fashion choices with men holding assault rifles?” Dominic raised an eyebrow.
Without waiting for her reply, Dominic grabbed her waist, hoisted her over the lip of the chute, and slid down right behind her, using his boots to brake against the smooth metal sides.
They hit the massive canvas laundry collection bin at the bottom in a tangled heap of pillows, table linens, and uniform aprons, rolling out onto the polished concrete floor of the basement laundry facility.
The air down here was humid, smelling of industrial bleach and hot steam.
Dominic pushed himself up, sweeping his pistol in a wide arc to check the corners of the cavernous basement. Clear.
Hannah scrambled out of the laundry bin, brushing lint off her torn uniform sleeve, her chest heaving. “We’re cut off from the main house. If they breach the upper floors, they’ll find the access panels to the panic room within ten minutes.”
Dominic holstered his weapon and walked over to a heavy electrical breaker panel set into the concrete foundation. He pulled a concealed master key from his pocket, unlocking the metal box. Instead of circuit breakers, the panel revealed a sophisticated secondary communications console and a red manual override toggle.
“They aren't going to have ten minutes,” Dominic said grimly.
May you like
He flipped the toggle.
Across the estate, a deep, mechanical groan echoed through the foundations.
