Chapter 10 - THE BLOOD TITHE
Arthur Sterling stood in the center of the vault entrance.
The cold fluorescent lighting reflected off the barrel of his shotgun.
His gray hair was combed back, neat and respectable, like the teacher he had pretended to be for twenty years.
"Step away from the box, Julian," Arthur said.
His voice was conversational.
Polite.
The same tone he used when he asked Ren to pass the salt at Sunday dinner.
"You've been a thorn in my side since your father ran the docks, boy."
Julian did not move.
He placed his body between Arthur’s shotgun and Ren.
"Your daughter found your wife's letter, Arthur," Julian said.
"She knows you killed her."
Ren’s head snapped toward Julian.
"What?" she breathed.
Arthur’s face did not twitch.
Not a single line of remorse creased his forehead.
"Your mother was weak, Ren," Arthur said, taking one step forward into the vault.
"She had moral objections to business."
"She wanted me to turn state's evidence."
"She wanted us to live on a witness protection pension in Nebraska."
He looked at his daughter with genuine disappointment.
"A woman with no vision."
"Just like you."
"You chose Derek because he was small."
"You thought a small man wouldn't hurt you."
Ren stepped out from behind Julian’s shoulder.
Her eyes were wide, burning with a hatred so pure it erased every trace of fear.
"You killed my mother?"
"Her car went into the Charles River eight years ago," Arthur replied evenly.
"The steering linkage broke."
"It was an unfortunate mechanical failure."
"And tonight, the bank’s security system will report an armed robbery gone wrong."
"Julian Thorne and his rogue associate killed in a firefight with private vault guards."
Arthur raised the shotgun to his shoulder.
"The bonds belong to me, Ren."
"They always did."
"Drop the weapon, Arthur," Julian said.
Arthur chuckled.
"You're out of moves, Julian."
"My men control the street above."
"The police are held at bay by the Vance council."
"You have a handgun against seven tactical weapons."
"I don't need seven weapons," Julian replied.
Julian raised his left hand toward the security camera in the ceiling corner.
He tapped the face of his tactical watch twice.
The blue fluorescent lights in the vault did not flicker.
They exploded.
Every light tube in the ceiling shattered simultaneously from an overvoltage pulse sent through the building’s transformer.
Absolute, suffocating blackness swallowed the vault.
"FIRE!" Arthur screamed.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the dark like lightning bolts.
The thunder of shotgun blasts was deafening inside the reinforced concrete chamber.
Lead shot chewed into the stainless steel boxes, sending sparks flying across the floor.
Julian moved in the dark with the precision of a ghost.
He grabbed Ren by the waist, throwing her down behind the heavy steel pedestal of the center inspection table.
"Night vision," Julian whispered into her ear.
He slipped a set of tactical monoculars over her head.
The room snapped into sharp green-and-black contrast.
Julian drew his Kimber .45.
He did not fire blindly.
He tracked the muzzle flashes of Arthur’s men.
Crack. Crack.
Two shooters dropped to the floor, their weapons clattering against the tiles.
Ren crawled to the edge of the pedestal.
Through the green lens, she saw Arthur.
He was backing toward the vault door, using one of his remaining men as a human shield.
He was reaching into his pocket for a remote detonator.
"Julian! The door!" Ren shouted.
"He's going to seal the airlock!"
If the ten-ton circular vault door closed from the outside, the vacuum seals would engage.
They would suffocate in the tomb within forty minutes.
Julian sprinted through the crossfire.
He tackled the last gunman into the steel wall, disarming him with a brutal strike to the throat.
Arthur reached the threshold.
His thumb slammed down on the remote button.
The massive steel gears of the vault door began to turn with a terrifying, hydraulic groan.
The twelve-inch steel door started swinging shut.
Ren didn't think.
She didn't calculate the odds.
She drew her compact pistol.
She raised both arms, steadying her breath just as her father had taught her on the shooting range when she was twelve years old.
"Breathe out," her father's voice echoed in her memory.
"Squeeze. Don't pull."
Ren pulled the trigger.
The bullet struck Arthur Sterling's right knee.
The bone shattered with a sickening crack.
Arthur screamed, his leg collapsing beneath him as he tumbled forward across the threshold.
The remote control flew from his hand, skittering across the floor.
Julian lunged forward, jamming a heavy steel crowbar into the door's interlocking gears.
The hydraulic mechanism shrieked in protest, sparks showering from the motor casing before the door jammed three feet open.
Silence returned to the vault.
Only the ragged, gasping breaths of Arthur Sterling remained.
He lay on his back on the cold marble tiles outside the door, clutching his mangled knee, his face twisted in agony.
Ren stepped through the opening.
The green monocular hung around her neck.
She stood over the man who had raised her.
Her hands were steady.
Her gun was pointed directly at his chest.
"Ren..." Arthur choked out, his aristocratic arrogance dissolving into raw terror.
"Renny... please... I'm your father..."
Ren looked down at him.
Her eyes were completely dry.
"My father died eight years ago," she said.
"With my mother."
She clicked the safety back onto her weapon and holstered it.
Julian stepped up beside her.
He looked down at Arthur, then up at the ceiling.
Above them, through the open airlock, came the sound of dozens of running boots.
Federal agents.
State marshals.
The real authorities had finally arrived.
Julian placed his hand gently on Ren’s shoulder.
"It's over, Ren," he said softly.
Ren turned her back on Arthur Sterling.
May you like
She looked at Julian.
"Take me home," she whispered.
