Chapter 10 - The Panic in the Castle
Inside the fortified study of the Bedford estate, Damian was pacing the hardwood floor like a caged animal, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Viktor! Answer the damn phone!” Damian screamed into the receiver, his voice cracking with a frantic, desperate terror he couldn't suppress.
The line went dead with a monotone dial tone, signaling that the Newark port operations had been completely disconnected from his network.
Rosalind sat huddled on the leather sofa, her ruby necklace discarded on the table, her hands clutching a glass of vodka with white knuckles.
“Why aren't they answering?!” she cried out, her eyes darting toward the reinforced window panes as the winter storm howled outside.
“He took the docks,” Damian whispered, dropping his cellular phone onto the desk as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
“Julian didn't just survive the Miami hit, Rosalind; he has been in New York since midnight, and he is systematically dismantling our entire infrastructure.”
He walked over to the wall safe, spinning the mechanical dial with shaking fingers to pull out stacks of emergency physical currency and passports.
“We have to leave now,” Damian commanded, shoving the money into a leather duffel bag with chaotic urgency. “We take the SUV to Teterboro right now!”
“We can't leave through the main gates!” Rosalind shouted, standing up and pointing toward the security monitors mounted above the desk.
“Look at the cameras, Damian! The Calabrese perimeter guards aren't responding to the radio checks! They haven't reported in for twenty minutes!”
Damian looked up at the high-definition security screens, his heart stopping cold as he realized what was happening on the estate grounds.
On screen monitor four, which displayed the western woodland perimeter, three of his armed sentries were lying motionless in the snow.
There were no muzzle flashes visible, no sound of gunfire echoing through the double-paned glass—just the silent, systematic elimination of his forces.
Suddenly, the lights inside the grand study flickered violently twice before completely extinguishing, plunging the mansion into total darkness.
The auxiliary power generators did not kick on; Julian had bypassed the basement transfer switches using his intimate knowledge of the estate's wiring.
“He cut the power,” Rosalind whimpered, backing away from the window until her shoulders hit the bookshelves in the pitch-black room.
“He is inside the perimeter, Damian... he is coming to kill us.”
Damian drew his sidearm, pulling back the slide with a loud, metallic click that echoed terrifically in the silent, dark study.
“Grab the flashlight from the desk,” Damian ordered her, his voice shaking despite his desperate attempt to sound like a commanding officer.
“We are going down to the sub-basement tunnels; we can use the old bootlegger passages to reach the secondary road before his men surround the house.”
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Rosalind grabbed the tactical flashlight, her hand shaking so violently that the beam of light danced erratically across the dark wood walls.
They moved toward the door of the study, completely unaware that the very escape route they were planning to use was already occupied by the King.
