Chapter 5 - Upstairs In The West Wing
The second-floor landing was dead quiet, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the Christmas moon cutting through the large arched stained-glass window. Raphael moved up the grand staircase on the balls of his feet, holding the Sig Sauer close to his chest, his eyes darting down the long, carpeted corridor leading to the west wing.
Two men stood outside Lauren’s double oak office doors.
One was smoking an electronic cigarette, blowing faint clouds of vapor toward the high ceiling, while the other leaned casually against the wall with a shotgun slung over his shoulder, tapping impatiently on his phone screen.
“She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that,” the smoker muttered, exhaling a thin cloud. “Most people would have handed over the flash drive after the first five minutes. The boss is going to have to get his hands dirty.”
“Just get the keys and let’s go,” the second man grunted. “I told my girl I’d be home by midnight for the roast beef.”
Raphael didn't wait to hear more. He stepped out from the shadowy stairwell into the corridor, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.
“Hey—” the smoker started, turning his head.
He didn't finish the word. Raphael raised the pistol and fired twice—controlled, suppressed thuds that echoed like heavy heartbeats through the hallway. Both rounds took the first man center mass, dropping him instantly without a sound.
The second man’s hand scrambled for the shotgun sling, his eyes widening in absolute shock as he stared at Raphael. “What the—”
Raphael lunged forward, smashing the heavy polymer butt of his pistol directly into the man’s temple. The intruder buckled, his knees hitting the plush carpet before he slumped sideways against the wainscoting, out cold.
Raphael stood over them for a single breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, before turning his attention to the heavy oak doors of Lauren’s office.
The door was unlocked, pushed open an inch.
Through the narrow crack, a harsh, grating voice cut through the silence of the room.
May you like
“Tick-tock, Mrs. Justin,” a cold, unfamiliar voice sneered inside. “Christmas isn't going to wait for you. Where is the drive?”
Raphael gripped the door handle, took a step back, and kicked the heavy oak door wide open with a deafening crash that shook the walls.
