Chapter 7 - Darkness and Decoys
The monitor wall in the panic room went completely black, plunging Lucas, Leo, and me into absolute shadows, illuminated only by the faint, pulsing green glow of the emergency oxygen scrubbers.
"Claire?" Leo whimpered, his small hand gripping my sleeve so hard his knuckles ached. "What happened? Why did the lights go out?"
"It's okay, sweeties," I whispered, pulling them both close against my chest. My heart was pounding so loudly I was terrified the guards outside could hear it through the steel door. "Your dad just turned off the lights so we can play the ultimate game of hide-and-seek. Remember what I said? Stay right here."
"Where are you going?" Lucas asked as I slowly stood up from the bench.
"I'm going to check on your dad," I whispered, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small, high-lumen tactical flashlight I had grabbed from the shelf before sealing the panic room.
I didn't turn it on yet. In total darkness, light is a target.
Using my hand to feel along the concrete-lined wall of the emergency stairwell, I crept back up to the steel door leading to the master wardrobe. I pressed my ear against the cold metal.
Outside, the mansion was dead silent, save for the distant, angry shouts of the Sterling security team fumbling through the dark hallways upstairs.
"Bring out the thermal goggles!" a gruff voice echoed faintly through the floorboards from the master bedroom above. "Sweep every inch of this floor! They couldn't have vanished into thin air!"
Thermal goggles.
My blood ran cold. If they had military-grade thermal optics, hiding inside a concrete wall or a standard wardrobe wouldn't save the boys for long. Our body heat would stick out like a beacon against the cooling drywall.
I needed to create a distraction. A massive one.
I twisted the heavy latch of the wardrobe door and cracked it open by half an inch. The amber emergency strips in the hallway cast long, flickering lines of light across the plush carpet of the master suite.
Empty.
Stepping out of the wardrobe, I moved with absolute silence across the bedroom. On Vincent’s mahogany nightstand sat an antique, heavy brass desk clock. Grabbing it, I crept toward the opposite end of the suite, near the private balcony doors that overlooked the rear gardens.
I unlocked the glass door, slid it open just enough to let the freezing Connecticut wind rush in, and hurled the heavy brass clock as far as I could out into the dark lawn below.
CRASH!
The clock landed squarely on the glass greenhouse roof thirty yards away, shattering panes and echoing loudly across the estate grounds.
Instantly, heavy boots thundered down the hallway.
"Over there! On the rear balcony!" someone screamed.
Three tactical operatives burst into the master bedroom, their thermal rifle sights sweeping across the room. One of them caught a faint reflection of movement near the open balcony doors.
"Target spotted! Move, move, move!"
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They charged past the bed, rushing out onto the balcony into the freezing night air.
I didn't hesitate. I turned, bolted back toward the panic room, and slipped inside, slamming the heavy steel door shut and throwing the manual deadbolt just as heavy footsteps pounded past the wardrobe outside.
