Chapter 6 - The Betrayal at the Bay
My blood ran colder than the ocean water sloshing against the foundation walls. "Doyle?"
The security chief stepped into the dim light, a cruel, mocking smile playing across his scarred face. Behind him stood two of his elite security guards, their weapons trained directly on Julian's chest.
"Put the gun down, boss," Doyle said smoothly, adjusting his grip on the rifle. "Or your pretty little housekeeper gets three rounds in the chest before you can squeeze the trigger."
Julian didn't lower his weapon, but he shifted his body slightly, placing himself directly between Doyle's rifle barrel and me. "I hired you six years ago, Doyle. I paid you three million a year."
"And the rival families in New York offered me twenty million for control of the Boston shipping lanes," Doyle replied with a shrug. "Corporate loyalty is a myth, Julian. You taught me that yourself."
Doyle nodded toward Thomas, who was groaning on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "The old man was a great distraction. He spent two months sneaking around stealing those ridiculous souvenirs, giving me the perfect cover to map out your internal security blind spots. I was the one who jammed the washing machine pump, Sadie. I was the one who sent the fake dry-cleaning basket."
"You framed me," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs.
"I needed someone foolish enough to wander into the drawing room and trigger the security investigation," Doyle sneered. "You played your part brilliantly, sweetheart. The barefoot innocent dancing for the cameras. It kept Julian completely focused on internal house security while my men set up the takeover at the docks."
Julian’s eyes flicked sideways toward me, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rising tide outside. "Sadie. Step back toward the vault door."
"Don't move, Sadie!" Doyle barked, raising his rifle. "Hand over the primary key around your neck."
I froze, my hand flying to the bronze key beneath my coat. Doyle knew I had it. He had seen Julian put it around my neck on the security monitors before we left the estate.
"You want the key, Doyle?" Julian asked, taking a deliberate step to the left, drawing the attention of both armed guards. "Come and take it."
In one blindingly fast motion, Julian didn't fire at Doyle—he fired his pistol directly at the heavy industrial steam pipe running along the concrete ceiling overhead.
BOOM!
High-pressure, scalding white steam erupted from the ruptured pipe, filling the narrow corridor in a second. The blinding, burning cloud swept over Doyle and his men, triggering instant screams of agony as the boiling vapor scorched their skin.
"RUN, SADIE!" Julian roared through the cloud of steam.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed Thomas by his good arm, hauling the bleeding old man to his feet with a surge of pure adrenaline I didn't know I possessed. "Get inside!" I screamed, shoving Thomas through the narrow side access hatch of the heavy iron bulkhead door.
Gunfire shattered the darkness—RAT-TAT-TAT!—bullets ricocheting wildly off the metal walls.
Julian backed up toward the hatch, firing three controlled shots into the steam cloud to suppress Doyle's men. He leaped through the narrow opening just as a burst of automatic fire shredded the metal frame inches from his head.
"SLAM IT!" Julian yelled.
Together, Julian and I threw our weight against the heavy iron bulkhead door, swinging the massive door shut. Julian grabbed the external locking wheel and spun it with violent force, locking the heavy steel deadbolts into place just as Doyle’s body slammed hard against the outside.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"CORSINI!" Doyle’s muffled, enraged voice screamed from the other side of the six-inch solid steel door. "YOU’RE TRAPPED DOWN THERE! THERE’S NO OTHER WAY OUT! THE TIDE IS COMING IN! YOU'LL DROWN IN AN HOUR!"
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Inside the vault, complete and total darkness swallowed us whole.
The only sound was the heavy, labored breathing of three people, and the ominous, steady drip-drip-drip of salt water leaking through the lower foundation seams.
