Chapter 9 - THE SIEGE OF THE HUDSON
The explosion rattled the heavy glass windows of the library, a low, concussive thud that vibrated through the floorboards. In the distance, through the falling snow, a plume of orange fire billowed above the pine trees near the main entrance gate.
Clara’s face went dead white. “Maya!”
“Lev,” Constantine barked into the console. “Lockdown protocol Delta. Seal the panic room on the sub-level. Move Clara and the girl down immediately.”
“Understood, Boss. Perimeter team is engaging now.”
Automatic gunfire erupted in the woods—the rapid, staccato chatter of Kalashnikovs answered by the disciplined, heavy thump of Constantine’s private security team returning fire with suppressed tactical rifles.
Constantine reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a custom combat pistol and two spare magazines, and slammed one into the receiver with a sharp, metallic click. He grabbed Clara by the wrist, pulling her out of the library and into the corridor just as Maya came running out of her bedroom, clutching her stuffed wolf, her eyes wide with terror.
“Mommy! The thunder is too loud!” Maya cried.
Clara scooped the girl into her arms, holding her tightly against her chest. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. We’re going with your father.”
The word father caught Constantine’s ear, but he didn't stop to acknowledge it. He led them down the north corridor toward the reinforced steel service elevator that led to the estate’s bunker.
Halfway down the hall, the massive stained-glass window at the landing shattered inward in a shower of colored shards. Two men in black tactical gear and night-vision goggles vaulted through the frame, landing on the hardwood floor with their weapons raised.
“Constantine!” one shouted, leveling a submachine gun.
Constantine didn't hesitate. He thrust Clara and Maya behind the stone pillar of the archway with his left arm while his right arm came up, firing three double-taps in fluid, terrifying succession.
The heavy rounds tore through the lead shooter’s chest armor, dropping him instantly. The second man dove behind an antique settee, spraying the corridor with 9mm rounds that chewed through the plaster and splintered the mahogany wainscoting.
Constantine ducked back behind the pillar, his face completely devoid of emotion. He reached into his pocket, pulled a tactical flash grenade, pulled the pin with his teeth, and bounced it off the opposite wall.
A deafening BANG and a blinding burst of white light filled the hallway, followed immediately by a scream of disorientation.
Constantine stepped out from behind the pillar, took two strides forward, and fired twice into the settee. The screaming stopped.
Silence fell over the second floor, broken only by the smell of cordite and the howling wind blowing through the shattered window.
Constantine turned back to Clara and Maya. Maya had her face buried in Clara’s neck, shaking violently, but she wasn't crying out. She had learned long ago that noise brought danger.
“Get in the elevator,” Constantine ordered, punching the security keypad on the wall. The heavy steel doors slid open. “Lev is waiting at the bottom. The bunker is reinforced with four feet of hardened concrete. Nothing short of a bunker-buster bomb can touch it.”
Clara stepped into the elevator, but when Constantine didn't follow, she grabbed the edge of the steel door. “Constantine! You’re coming with us!”
“There are fifteen more of them on my grounds,” Constantine said, his eyes cold, his jaw set like granite. “They came using old family codes. If I hide in a hole while they burn my house, the rest of the Syndicate will think I’ve grown soft. They will never stop hunting you, Clara.”
“Don't do this!” Clara pleaded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Let the security team handle it! You don't have to prove anything!”
Constantine looked past Clara to Maya. The little girl pulled her head back from her mother’s shoulder, her huge blue eyes looking at him through the gloom.
“Are you going to shoot the bad men again?” Maya whispered.
Constantine reached out, his bloody knuckle gently brushing her soft cheek.
“I am going to finish the work, Maya,” he said. “So that you never have to count pennies for soup again.”
“Don't get hurt,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don't want another daddy to go to sleep.”
The words struck Constantine deeper than any bullet ever could. A faint, rare smile touched the corners of his lips—a fleeting warmth that transformed his brutal face for a fraction of a second.
“I won't go to sleep, little bird,” he promised.
He hit the door-close button.
The heavy steel panels slid shut, locking with a definitive, motorized thud, sending Clara and Maya down into the earth.
May you like
Constantine turned around, chambered a fresh round into his weapon, picked up an abandoned assault rifle from the dead mercenary on the floor, and walked toward the stairs.
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