Chapter 4 - Siege at the EstateThe red emergency strobe lights mounted along the ceiling of my office began to pulse in a rhythmic, hypnotic cadence, casting long, frantic shadows across the walls.
“Prescott!” I roared over the shrieking wail of the perimeter alarms. “Status report!”
Prescott had already deployed a tactical tablet from his belt, tapping furiously across the encrypted glass screen as the floor beneath us trembled from a second, closer concussive blast.
“Sector Four wall has been compromised by high-yield shaped charges!” Prescott shouted, his voice hard and utterly devoid of panic. “They’re moving in fast—at least twelve to fifteen heavily armed operatives wearing black tactical gear with no insignia. They bypassed our primary turret grid using an electromagnetic pulse device. They’re inside the outer courtyard!”
“Get the guards to defensive positions along the inner perimeter,” I ordered, sweeping the titanium suppressor cylinder and the open medical report into my heavy leather briefcase with one hand, while sliding my Sig Sauer P226 pistol out of its shoulder holster with the other. “Protect the hospital wing at all costs. If those bastards reach my children, I want every man firing to kill.”
“Consider it done, Mr. Mercer,” Prescott replied, pulling his assault rifle off its magnetic wall mount and checking the chamber with a sharp, metallic clack. He turned to the two guards standing near the door. “Smith, Davis, you’re with me. Lock down the corridors!”
As Prescott and his men bolted out of the office toward the heavy steel fire doors, Elena shrank back against the bookshelf, her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle her sobs.
“They’re not here just to destroy the research, Lawson,” she whispered, trembling violently. “Apex doesn't leave loose ends. If they take this estate, they’ll execute everyone inside—starting with you and your children, and ending with me.”
“Not on my watch,” I said, stepping over to her and grabbing her firmly by the arm, pulling her away from the glass windows. “Listen to me, Elena. You brought me the key to save my kids. Now I’m going to get you out of here alive. Stay directly behind me.”
I drew my pistol, thumbing the safety off with a sharp click, and led her out into the dimly lit corridor.
The normally pristine, art-lined hallways of my Chicago estate were now bathed in an eerie, pulsing crimson glow from the emergency beacons. Smoke was already beginning to drift up from the lower-level security hub where the EMP blast had fried the primary electrical junction boxes.
From down the hall came the unmistakable, terrifying rat-tat-tat of suppressed automatic gunfire, followed by the shattering of reinforced glass and shouts of tactical commands barked in cold, clipped military jargon.
“Clear the corridor!” a voice roared through the smoke—one of Prescott’s men, cut off by a sudden, violent burst of answering fire.
Thud. A body hit the carpeted floor heavy and limp just around the corner.
“Lawson!” Elena gasped, clutching my sleeve.
“Keep moving!” I hissed, pushing her behind a massive stone pillar as a hail of high-velocity rounds chewed through the plaster wall inches above our heads, raining white dust and drywall shrapnel down upon our shoulders.
I leaned around the edge of the pillar, raised my Sig Sauer, and acquired target acquisition through the swirling gray smoke. Two black-clad operatives were advancing down the hallway, their weapons raised, systematically clearing every doorway.
Bang! Bang!
My first two rounds caught the lead operative dead center in his reinforced ceramic chest plate, spinning him backward against the wall. Before his partner could pivot his rifle toward me, my third shot found the gap in his visor. He dropped instantly without a sound.
“Move, now!” I grabbed Elena’s hand and sprinted down the remaining length of the corridor toward the heavy reinforced double doors leading to the subterranean medical wing.
The kids were down there.
Isolated behind three feet of concrete and lead-lined glass, Jonah and Blythe were still sleeping under the sterile hum of their monitors, completely oblivious to the war zone raging around their sanctuary.
As we reached the reinforced vault door of the medical wing, I punched my biometric security code into the digital keypad.
Access Denied. System Offline.
The EMP blast had scrambled the electronic locks.
“Damn it!” I cursed, slamming my fist against the keypad.
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“Lawson!” Elena pointed down the intersecting hallway.
Emerging from the smoke around the corner were four more tactical operatives, their night-vision goggles glowing an eerie green in the dim emergency light, weapons tracking directly toward us.
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