Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE ON THE SIXTIETH FLOOR
The backup generator didn't kick on.
The sixty-fourth floor plunged into absolute blackness.
The only illumination came from the flashing red emergency beacons along the terrace perimeter.
Wooo-errr-wooo-errr.
The alarm wailed, deafening inside the high-ceilinged penthouse.
“Down,” Gabriel commanded.
He didn't hesitate.
He pulled Claire into the alcove beneath the steel reinforced staircase.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket, draped it over her trembling shoulders, and drew his Sig Sauer.
Outside on the wraparound terrace, shadows moved against the rain.
Three men in tactical gear dropped from the roof above on rappelling ropes.
Their boots struck the glass terrace tiles with heavy clacks.
They carried suppressed submachine guns and thermal cutting torches.
“Vincent didn't come to talk,” Claire whispered, her teeth chattering against her lip.
“He came to distract me while his strike team staged on the roof,” Gabriel said.
His thumb clicked the safety off his weapon.
The sound of shattering glass erupted across the grand living room.
A stun grenade detonated.
BANG-FLASH.
A blinding white light washed over the modern furniture, followed by a shockwave that rattled the paintings on the wall.
Claire covered her ears, gasping for air.
Two mercenaries stepped through the shattered French doors, smoke curling from their tactical vests.
Gabriel didn't wait for them to acquire targets.
He leaned around the corner of the staircase.
He fired three controlled pairs.
Ptu-ptu. Ptu-ptu. Ptu-ptu.
The heavy nine-millimeter rounds tore through the chest plates of the first two shooters.
Both men collapsed into the broken glass, their weapons skittering across the hardwood floor.
The third shooter dove behind the marble kitchen island, blind-firing a spray of automatic fire.
Rounds chewed through the drywall above Claire’s head, plaster dust raining down on her sweater.
Marco’s voice crackled through Gabriel’s earpiece:
“Boss! The private elevator shaft has been compromised!”
“They cut the main cables!”
“Six more shooters are ascending the fire stairs!”
Gabriel tapped his earpiece.
“The safe room,” Gabriel ordered.
“Meet us at the vault corridor.”
Gabriel turned to Claire.
He pulled her up from the floor, keeping his body between her and the kitchen island.
“Can you run?” he asked, his eyes searching hers in the strobe of the red beacons.
“I can run,” she said, her voice finding an unexpected steel.
“Three steps behind me,” he said.
“Do not look at the bodies.”
They sprinted down the long private hallway lined with dark oak panels.
Behind them, the shooter at the kitchen island leaped over the counter, pursuing them with his carbine raised.
Claire heard the boots behind them.
She didn't freeze.
She grabbed a heavy bronze sculpture of a leaping hound from an antique pedestal as she passed.
With all the adrenaline rushing through her veins, she hurled it backward down the narrow corridor.
The ten-pound bronze struck the shooter directly in the knee.
The man let out a howl of agony, his leg buckling beneath him as he crashed into the wall.
Gabriel spun on his heel and fired once through the man’s visor, ending the pursuit.
Gabriel looked at Claire.
A faint, breathless smirk touched his lips in the dark.
“Remind me never to make you angry, Claire.”
“I teach middle school, Gabriel,” she panted, clutching her side.
“I know how to deal with rowdy boys.”
They reached the end of the corridor.
A seamless steel door was flush with the wall.
A biometric pad glowed green in the dark.
Gabriel pressed his thumb against the glass.
BEEP.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The six-inch-thick vault door swung inward on hydraulic hinges.
Inside sat a reinforced panic room: emergency medical supplies, satellite communications terminals, water reserves, and rows of tactical weapons.
Marco was already inside, his forearm wrapped in a bloody pressure bandage, his gun aimed at the doorway until he recognized Gabriel.
“The stairs are sealed, boss,” Marco said, panting.
“They’re placing C4 on the exterior vault wall.”
“We have about four minutes before the door frame buckles.”
Gabriel guided Claire to a heavy leather armchair in the corner.
He pushed her down gently, then knelt to inspect her ankles.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said, her chest heaving.
“Just out of breath.”
Gabriel walked over to the communications desk.
He picked up a red landline receiver.
He dialed a five-digit private frequency.
The line rang once.
A crisp, cold voice answered:
“Director Vance. Federal Bureau of Investigation, Organized Crime Division.”
Claire gasped.
Gabriel was calling the FBI?
Gabriel looked at the vault door as the first explosion shook the floorboards from outside.
BOOM.
Dust puffed from the ceiling vents.
“Vance,” Gabriel spoke into the phone.
“The truce is over.”
“Vincent Moretti just deployed military-grade explosives on Park Avenue.”
The FBI director’s voice sharpened instantly.
“We have surveillance on your building, Gabriel.”
“What are you offering?”
Gabriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black flash drive.
The drive he had kept locked in his desk safe for five years.
The complete accounting ledgers of the Five Families.
Every bribe.
Every shipping manifest.
Every offshore account in the Caymans.
“I am handing you the entire Commission on a silver platter,” Gabriel said.
“Every boss in New York.”
“Including my own captains.”
A heavy silence fell over the secure line.
“And what do you want in exchange, DeLuca?” Vance asked.
Gabriel looked across the bunker at Claire Hayes.
She was holding her stomach, her hazel eyes reflecting the dim green monitor light, watching him with a mixture of terror and awe.
“Full federal immunity for Claire Hayes,” Gabriel said.
“Erasure of all debts connected to Thomas Hayes.”
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“And a federal extraction team on my roof in ninety seconds.”
“Or I detonate the munitions cache beneath this building and take everyone with me.”
