Chapter 5 - Siege at Delaware AvenueThe electricity cut out instantly. The hum of the oxygen concentrator died, plunging the master suite into heavy, suffocating silence.
Evelyn flinched, clutching the plastic tubing. Gabriel moved swiftly to the corner cabinet, pulling out a compact, battery-operated travel cylinder and threading the regulator with steady, practiced hands. He had hated this equipment for twenty years, but right now, every twist of the brass valve was the only thing keeping his world spinning.
"Ten liters remaining," Gabriel murmured, slipping the strap of the canvas carry-bag over her shoulder and adjusting the nasal cannula. "That gives us about two hours on continuous flow. We need to reach the basement garage."
"The elevators are down with the power," Evelyn warned, leaning heavily against him as she stood. Her knees buckled slightly, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to collapse. "They’ll be watching the central staircase."
"Then we take the utility shaft behind the pantry," Gabriel replied.
He cracked the bedroom door open. Cole was gone, leaving a smear of dark blood along the hallway baseboard leading toward the rear stairs. Downstairs, the heavy splintering of mahogany echoed through the foyer—Paul’s strike team had breached the front double doors.
Gabriel guided Evelyn down the carpeted corridor, moving in total synchronization. He kept his body positioned between her and the open balustrade. Below, flashlights cut sharp white cones through the dark gallery, sweeping over four centuries of art and mirrors.
"Check the master bedroom!" a voice barked from the marble foyer. "Paul wants Mercer alive if possible, but the girl doesn't leave the floor!"
Gabriel pressed Evelyn into the recessed alcove of the linen press. He waited three seconds until the lead point-man rounded the corner of the landing, weapon raised. Gabriel stepped out, fired two suppressed rounds into the mercenary's chest, and caught the collapsing body before the tactical vest hit the floorboards with a thud.
He stripped the man’s tactical radio and an extra sidearm, pressing the weapon into Evelyn's hands. "Safety's off. Do you remember how I taught you?"
Evelyn nodded, her face pale in the gloom, but her fingers wrapped firmly around the textured grip. "Center mass. Two hands."
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They reached the service door behind the kitchen pantry and descended into the cold, concrete subterranean level. But as Gabriel hit the bottom landing, his flashlight illuminated a yellow hazard tag on the wall-mounted air filtration unit: the exhaust valves had been reversed. Thick, acrid smoke from the estate’s auxiliary furnace was being pumped directly into the lower corridors.
Evelyn gasped, coughing violently as the sulfurous air hit her throat. The pressure gauge on her portable oxygen tank clinked against the concrete—the needle had dropped directly into the red zone.
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