Chapter 5 - The Battle for the West Wing
The darkness of the Berkshire night exploded into a symphony of controlled violence.
The first tactical breacher blew through the reinforced double glass of the grand conservatory, glass raining down on the marble tiles.
Before the assassin’s boots could even touch the floor, Gabriel stepped out of the shadows of the archway.
The thunderous roar of his 12-gauge shotgun ripped through the hall, the heavy buckshot lifting the intruder off his feet and throwing him back into the blizzard.
Two more mercenaries moved through the smoke, firing controlled bursts of 9mm submachine gunfire that chewed through the antique wainscoting.
Gabriel rolled behind a heavy granite column, returning fire with his sidearm with terrifying, match-grade precision.
Two precise double-taps dropped both attackers instantly on the oriental rug.
Meanwhile, on the second floor, Evelyn pushed the heavy motorized hospital beds containing Noah and Ethan into the reinforced panic chamber.
The steel vault door slid shut on heavy pneumatic tracks, the six-inch titanium locking bolts engaging with a deep, reverberating thud.
Inside the sealed chamber, the distant gunfire sounded like faint, muffled thunder.
Evelyn immediately turned her full attention back to the monitors connected to the twin boys.
Noah’s heart rate was spiking dangerously—one hundred and sixty beats per minute—as the stress of the chemical withdrawal triggered an acute autonomic storm.
His small chest heaved violently, foam beginning to form at the corners of his mouth.
“Hold on, Noah,” Evelyn whispered with fierce maternal determination, pulling a pre-filled syringe of diazepam and atropine sulfate from her kit.
“You fought this poison for sixteen months.”
“You are not giving up tonight.”
She carefully administered the medication into his central venous line, monitoring the pupil dilation with her penlight.
Slowly, the violent convulsions began to subside.
The irregular spikes on the electrocardiogram smoothed into a steady, rhythmic sinus wave.
Ethan stirred beside his brother, his small, pale eyelids fluttering open for the first time in three weeks without the heavy fog of neuro-toxins.
His weak, trembling hand reached out across the sterile sheets, brushing against Evelyn’s sleeve.
“Miss… Evelyn…?” Ethan croaked, his voice raw from the oxygen cannula.
“Where is Daddy…?”
Tears prickled behind Evelyn’s eyes, but she smiled down at the brave little boy with gentle, unshakable warmth.
“Your daddy is outside making sure the bad men never come near you again,” Evelyn said softly, stroking his damp forehead.
“You and your brother are safe now, Ethan.”
“The poison is gone.”
Outside in the grand foyer, the final mercenary lay motionless at the base of the marble staircase.
Vance and three surviving tactical guards cleared the perimeter, securing the weapons and checking the biometric identifiers on the dead operatives.
Gabriel stood in the center of the ruined foyer, his coat torn and his cheek grazed by a bullet, but his posture completely unbroken.
He racked his slide, ejected the empty magazine, and inserted a fresh clip with a cold, metallic click.
“Vance, prepare the armored motorcade,” Gabriel ordered, wiping a smear of blood from his jawline.
May you like
“We are driving to Boston tonight.”
“It’s time to attend my brother’s board meeting.”
