Chapter 4 - Ambush in the Kitchen
The glass patio door in the kitchen gave a faint, metallic click as a lock-picking tool forced the bolt open.
The door swung open silently. A tall man wearing a black balaclava stepped into the dark kitchen, his gloved hand raising a silencer-equipped pistol. Behind him, a second armed operative stepped over the threshold, scanning the perimeter with a low-intensity tactical flashlight.
They moved with professional efficiency, keeping low, their weapons pointed toward the living room hallway.
What they didn't know was that I was crouching on top of the heavy granite kitchen island directly above their heads, holding a twenty-pound iron skillet I had grabbed from the hanging rack.
As the second operative stepped past the island, I leaned over and dropped the heavy cast-iron skillet directly onto his head.
CRACK.
The iron skillet struck the man’s skull with terrible force. He collapsed onto the hardwood floor like a sack of bricks, his gun skittering across the tile.
Before the first operative could turn around, Julian charged out from behind the pantry door. He tackled the intruder with the fury of a man who had been hiding in a box for three months. The two men slammed against the stainless-steel refrigerator, shattering glass jars and sending copper pots crashing to the floor.
The operative managed to raise his weapon toward Julian’s chest.
“Julian, down!” I shouted, leaping off the kitchen island.
Julian dropped to his knees. I swung the wooden rolling pin with all the force in my body, striking the operative across the side of his neck. The man groaned, his gun slipping from his grip, and I followed up with a sharp knee to his chin. The operative slumped unconscious against the kitchen cabinets.
Breathing heavily, Julian scrambled across the floor and retrieved both dropped handguns. He quickly dropped the magazines, checked the chambers, and handed one of the pistols to me.
“You hit hard for an auditor,” Julian panted, wiping sweat from his eyes.
“I played rugby in college,” I muttered, checking the safety on the suppressed firearm. “And I really hate uninvited guests.”
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was an incoming call from an unknown, encrypted number.
I answered it, holding the phone to my ear while keeping my weapon trained on the kitchen doorway.
“David,” a smooth, arrogant voice came through the speaker. It was Marcus Sterling. “I see my boys encountered some unexpected resistance. I always knew you were smarter than you let on.”
“Marcus,” I said coldly. “You have two unconscious hitmen lying on my kitchen floor. If you send anyone else into my house, they’ll leave in body bags.”
Marcus laughed softly—a dry, sinister sound. “Oh, David. Always so dramatic. You think you’re playing a game of hero, but you don't realize the scale of what you’re dealing with. That flash drive your brother-in-law carries contains names that go all the way up to the state governor’s office. You can't audit your way out of this one.”
“Try me,” I said.
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“Here’s the deal,” Marcus said, his tone turning ice-cold. “You throw the flash drive out the front window, hand over Julian, and I let you, your wife, and your little girl walk away tonight. You have five minutes to decide. If you refuse, my men outside will set fire to your house with thermite canisters. You’ll all burn together, and the police will report it as a tragic gas leak explosion.”
The line went dead.
