Chapter 59 - The Gates of Iron and Ivory
The black convoy moved north along the snow-dusted expanse of Sheridan Road like a procession of wraiths. Four matte-black armored SUVs, devoid of license plates or insignias, cut through the pre-dawn fog hanging over Lake Michigan.
Inside the lead vehicle, the silence was absolute. Emma sat in the front passenger seat, staring through the reinforced glass at the sprawling, gated estates of Chicago’s ultra-wealthy. Each mansion sat secluded behind towering wrought-iron fences, shielded from the reality of the city they exploited.
Vincent sat in the rear, reassembling a tactical communication earpiece. Beside him sat an array of satellite monitors tracking the thermal signatures inside the Sterling estate.
"The perimeter is reinforced," his tactical commander reported through the headset. "Twelve armed private contractors on the grounds. Two armored limousines idling at the private helipad. Senator Vance arrived twenty minutes ago. Victoria Sterling and her father, Richard Sterling, are in the grand library with three corporate attorneys."
"Has the helicopter cleared airspace?" Vincent asked.
"Negative. Fog is too dense over the lake. They are grounded for another thirty minutes."
"Then that is all the time we need," Vincent said. He glanced at Emma. "When we breach, stay behind my shield team. The Sterlings are desperate, and desperate aristocrats are more dangerous than common criminals. They believe their wealth exempts them from consequence."
"They don't know who they're dealing with," Emma replied softly, her hands resting calmly in her lap. She wasn't the trembling girl who had dropped a tray of champagne glasses two weeks ago. The trial by fire had stripped away her timidity, revealing the tempered steel beneath.
The lead SUV did not slow down as it approached the colossal, wrought-iron gates of the Sterling estate.
The iron gates were twelve feet tall, adorned with the gilded crest of the House of Sterling—an eagle gripping an olive branch. Two private security guards stepped out of the gatehouse, raising their hands and shouting warnings through bullhorns.
"Ram it," Vincent commanded calmly over the comm.
The heavy, steel-reinforced bull-bar of the lead SUV struck the central lock of the gates at forty-five miles per hour.
The impact was cataclysmic. The iron hinges sheared off their stone pillars with an explosive shriek of tearing metal, sending the massive gates crashing inward onto the crushed gravel driveway. The convoy surged through the wreckage without losing momentum, tires churning the gravel into hail as they swept up the winding, half-mile driveway lined with towering, ancient pines.
Muzzle flashes erupted from the estate’s outer terrace. Private security guards opened fire, but the rounds flattened harmlessly against the Level B6 ballistic armor of the SUVs.
The vehicles slid to a coordinated stop in a semi-circle around the grand portico of the mansion, boxing in the front entrance entirely.
Before the smoke from the tires had cleared, the doors of the trailing SUVs flew open. Eight heavily armed operators from Moretti’s private vanguard moved in swift, lethal formation, deploying flashbangs and suppressive fire. Within forty-five seconds, the external security detail was neutralized, disarmed, and pinned face-down upon the frozen manicured lawn.
Vincent stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting the cuffs of his white shirt. He wore no tactical armor. He carried no visible weapon. He walked up the sweeping limestone steps as though attending an evening gala held in his honor.
Emma walked half a step behind him, her chin held high, the cold wind whipping her hair across her face.
Vincent reached the massive, carved oak double doors of the mansion. He didn't bother knocking. He stepped aside as his lead operator planted a hydraulic breaching ram against the deadbolts.
May you like
With a single, thunderous hiss of compressed air, the door flew inward, splintering into shards across the priceless Persian carpets of the foyer.
***
