Chapter 14: The Interrogation in the Dark
The two subordinate operatives tried to raise their rifles toward the balcony, but before their fingers could even graze the triggers, a volley of non-lethal, high-velocity acoustic stun rounds rained down from the rooftop sniper nests managed by Marcus’s security detail.
The sonic blast hit the two operatives like a physical wall, dropping them instantly to their knees, clutching their heads in agonizing disorientation as their tactical headsets blew out.
The team leader stood alone, realizing in a fraction of a second that his mission was an utter, catastrophic failure. He slowly lowered his weapon, dropping it onto the pristine lawn. He raised his hands, looking up at Julian with a dark, cynical smile beneath his balaclava.
"Impressive, Mr. Vance," the leader mocked, his voice muffled by the mask. "You play the corporate warlord well. But you think catching three grunts means you've won? You don't even know who is pulling the strings."
Julian didn't answer with words. He simply stepped off the balcony, dropping effortlessly from the second-story ledge to the grass below, landing squarely on his feet with the lethal grace of a predator. He closed the distance between himself and the operative in three long strides.
Before the leader could react, Julian struck—a swift, devastating punch to the solar plexus that knocked the remaining air out of the man’s lungs, followed by a sweep of his leg that sent the operative crashing hard onto the stone patio.
Julian stood over him, pressing the cold steel barrel of his sidearm directly against the center of the man's forehead.
"Who sent you?" Julian asked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet radiating a terrifying, suffocating fury. "Was it Arthur’s remaining associates, or are there higher players hiding in the shadows of the old regime?"
The operative coughed, spitting a drop of blood onto the clean stone. Despite the gun barrel pressed against his skull, he began to laugh—a dry, raspy sound that sent a chill down the spine.
"You think Arthur Vance was the head of the snake?" the man wheezed, smiling up through his black mask. "Arthur was just a pawn keeping your seat warm while the real lords of the Sterling legacy watched from across the ocean. They know you have the hairpin, Julian. And they're coming for your sister... and your head."
Before Julian could press for a name, the operative bit down hard on a concealed dental capsule.
Julian’s eyes widened. "Marcus! Restrain him!" he shouted, lunging forward to pry the man's jaw open.
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It was too late. A violent tremor wracked the operative’s body, his eyes rolling back as a cyanogen-based neurotoxin instantly stopped his heart. He went completely limp in a matter of seconds.
Julian stood up slowly, staring down at the dead man in silence, the weight of a much larger, darker war finally crashing down upon his shoulders.
