Chapter 17 - The Judas in the Inner Circle
The tires of the SUV shrieked as Julian slid the vehicle onto the curb directly in front of the Ritz-Carlton. Before the vehicle had even completely stopped, Julian and Clara burst through the revolving doors, sprinted past the screaming hotel concierge, and took the private executive elevator straight to the penthouse floor.
Julian held a concealed Glock 19 in his right hand, his finger resting along the slide. Clara followed close behind, clutching a heavy brass fire extinguisher she had ripped from the elevator alcove.
The elevator doors chimed and opened onto the penthouse corridor.
The air smelled of copper and cordite.
Two tactical guards lay in the hallway, their bodies slumped against the wallpaper. Clara held her breath, tears blinding her, as Julian stepped over them, checking their pulses.
"They're alive," Julian breathed, his voice raw. "Tranquilizer darts. High-grade neurotoxin. They’re unconscious."
Julian kicked the door of the presidential suite wide open, raising his weapon into the room. "Clear!"
Clara pushed past him, screaming Lucas’s name, and ran straight into the nursery.
The white crib was empty.
The embroidered blanket lay discarded on the floor. In the center of the mattress, where their four-month-old son should have been sleeping, lay a single item: a polished silver bone saw, the kind used in orthopedic amputations, wrapped in a handwritten note:
*“Family reunions require sacrifice. Bring the bearer bonds from Blackwood Island, Julian. Alone. If you bring police, the boy starves.”*
"No! No, no, no!" Clara collapsed onto her knees, clutching the empty baby blanket to her chest, inhaling Lucas’s lingering scent of baby powder and sweet milk. She rocked back and forth, sobbing hysterically. "Where is he?! Julian, where is our son?!"
A low groan sounded from the master bedroom.
Julian rushed in with his gun raised. Propped against the mahogany bedpost was Mark Vance. His face was bruised purple, his tactical vest ripped, and blood oozed from a gash across his temple.
Julian grabbed Vance by the collar, hauling him halfway up. "Vance! Who took him?! What happened to my son?!"
Vance coughed, spitting blood onto the rug. He looked at Julian with haunted, dazed eyes. "Julian... I’m sorry. I couldn't stop him. He had... he had the master override codes for the security system."
Julian froze. "The override codes? Only three people had those codes. Me, Clara... and you."
Vance’s gaze flickered. A terrible, agonizing silence stretched across the room.
Clara appeared in the doorway, the empty blanket clutched in her fist. Her eyes locked onto Vance’s bleeding face, then traveled down to his wrist.
Around Vance’s wrist was a vintage gold Rolex Submariner. On the clasp, etched into the gold, was a crest: a soaring falcon clutching a silver anchor.
May you like
The crest of Eleanor Sterling’s father.
"You," Clara whispered, her voice dropping into an icy, bottomless fury. "It wasn't an encrypted VPN that ordered that box. It was you."
