Chapter 7 - THE BREAKOUT
"Drop your weapons!" the lead tactical operator barked, his voice amplified by the comms unit on his helmet as he swept his rifle barrel directly toward the table.
Mateo didn't hesitate. With practiced speed, he grabbed the shotgun leaning against the stone hearth, brought it up in a smooth arc, and discharged a single round into the overhead kerosene lantern.
Clang!
The glass shattered instantly, plunging the center of the cabin into absolute darkness as oil ignited along the floorboards in a wall of sudden, blinding orange flame.
"Move!" Arthur yelled, grabbing Clara by the shoulder and hauling her behind the thick stone partition of the fireplace just as a hail of suppressed gunfire chewed through the wooden walls above their heads.
Bullets punched through the vintage radio equipment and splintered the bookshelf, sending leather-bound ledgers flying into the air.
"Mateo!" Clara shouted over the roar of the fire.
"I'm good!" the old man’s voice called out from the shadows near the back storage room. "Follow me!"
Clara and Arthur scrambled across the floor, dodging the flickering flames as they ducked through the low doorway into Mateo’s back workshop. The room smelled of machine oil and gunpowder, housing a secondary exit that led directly out into the rocky recess behind the granite cliff.
Mateo was already wrenching open a heavy iron cellar door set into the stone floor, revealing a steep, damp concrete staircase leading down into the darkness.
"Where does this go?" Arthur asked, firing two quick shots back through the doorway to pin the advancing operators.
"Old smuggling tunnel used during the prohibition era," Mateo grunted, grabbing a heavy military flashlight from the workbench and tossing it to Clara. "It leads down to the valley road. My backup car is parked half a mile past the tree line."
"Go! I'll cover the rear!" Arthur ordered, standing his ground at the top of the stairs with his pistol raised.
"We go together, Arthur!" Clara insisted, grabbing his arm. "I'm not leaving you here!"
"Clara, listen to me," Arthur said, his grey eyes fierce and steady in the flickering firelight. "If they take this ledger, your family gets buried twice. Take the book, get to Geneva, and hand it directly to the international press corps. I’ll buy you ten minutes."
Before Clara could argue, a burst of gunfire shattered the workshop window, and heavy boots slammed against the outer door.
Mateo grabbed Clara around the waist and hauled her down the concrete stairs, pulling the heavy iron door shut above them just as the latch exploded under a hail of rifle fire.
Clang!
The heavy iron bolt slammed home from the inside as Mateo engaged the manual security lock, plunging them into pitch-blackness save for the narrow beam of the flashlight cutting through the damp, echoing tunnel.
"Keep moving!" Mateo urged, pushing her forward down the descending stone steps.
The air in the tunnel was cold and smelled of wet earth and ancient stone. Water dripped rhythmically from the vaulted ceiling, splashing into puddles beneath their boots as they sprinted through the darkness. Behind them, muffled by feet of solid granite, came the dull, heavy thud of explosives breaching the cellar door above.
"They're through the inner lock," Clara panted, her boots splashing through the water as she clutched the leather ledger tightly against her chest with one hand and held the flashlight with the other.
"Almost there," Mateo shouted over the sound of their echoing footsteps. "The exit is just past the iron grating ahead!"
A sudden beam of light cut through the tunnel from ahead of them, making both of them freeze in their tracks.
Clara raised the flashlight, bracing for the worst.
Standing in the center of the tunnel, blocking the exit grating, was a lone figure in a dark trench coat. The water dripped from the brim of his hat as he turned slowly to face them.
It wasn't a tactical operator.
It was Vincent Rizzo.
The scar-faced enforcer stood with his hands relaxed at his sides, a cold, jagged smile cutting across his weathered face. He looked at Clara and Mateo with the quiet satisfaction of a predator who had just cornered its prey in a cul-de-sac.
"Nice run, little girl," Vincent rasped, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "But the boss wants his book back."
Mateo slowly raised his shotgun, his muscles tensing for action. "Step aside, Vincent. You're out of your depth."
"Am I?" Vincent chuckled, his right hand sliding slowly toward the inside of his coat. "The Senator owns the police, the borders, and half the judges in Europe. You don't have anywhere left to run."
Clara didn't flinch. She stepped past Mateo, her dark eyes locking onto the enforcer with a chill that matched the damp air of the tunnel.
"You're right, Vincent," Clara said calmly. "There’s nowhere left to run. Which is why we aren't running anymore."
With a sudden, lightning-fast motion, Clara reached into her pocket, pulled out the scorched silver pocket watch, and hurled it directly at the electrical junction box mounted on the tunnel wall beside Vincent’s head.
The heavy silver casing struck the exposed wiring with a sharp metallic spark.
CRACK!
May you like
A blinding arc of blue electricity flashed across the damp stone walls as the old prohibition-era power lines shorted out, plunging the entire tunnel into pitch-blackness accompanied by the deafening roar of a localized electrical explosion.
---
