Chapter 20 - The Secret Vault Under Aldridge Street
The gunfire in the hallway was deafening.
I leaned out from the study doorway, firing disciplined, three-round bursts that chewed through the drywall and forced Vance’s two lead mercenaries to dive behind the mahogany coat rack. General Graves stepped out beside me, his rifle barking with deadly precision, dropping the third gunman with two rounds to the center chest.
"Move! Flank them through the dining room!" Vance screamed from the foyer, his voice cracking with panic as he realized he wasn't fighting an elderly pensioner and an unarmed girl—he was fighting two trained infantry officers.
"Mom, now! Cellar!" I yelled over the din of shattering glass.
Clara sprinted down the rear corridor, diving through the reinforced cellar door and slamming the steel lock in place just as a hail of submachine-gun fire tore through the pantry behind her.
Outside, the heavy, rhythmic thumping of Black Hawk helicopters rattled the roof tiles.
The garrison's Quick Reaction Force had recovered from the diversion at Gate One. Two armored Stryker vehicles were tearing up the hill toward Quarters One, their fifty-caliber machine guns trained on the mercenaries' getaway vans parked along the lawn.
"Boss! We have air support incoming!" the remaining mercenary yelled, firing blindly down the hallway. "We have to bug out now! We're surrounded!"
Vance snarled, firing three desperate rounds through the study door. One of the bullets grazed the wooden molding, showering my face with sharp splinters.
"Bennett!" Vance shrieked, backing toward the blown-out front entrance. "You think you've won? Look at your father's dog tags, you stupid little brat! Where do you think the serial number leads? The cemetery is already burning!"
He turned and sprinted out into the snow, diving into a black armored SUV that tore across the manicured lawn just as the first Stryker vehicle breached the estate gates. The military police opened fire on the vehicle’s tires, but the heavy run-flats kept the SUV moving down the wooded backside of the ridge toward the civilian district.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!" I yelled, stepping out onto the porch with my rifle held at low-ready.
General Graves stood beside me, coughing in the smoke, clutching his left shoulder where a ricochet fragment had torn through his cardigan.
"General! You're hit!"
"Flesh wound. Scratched by a coward's bullet," Graves spat, waving off the MP medics who came sprinting up the front steps. "Did you hear what he said, Ruby? The cemetery."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "The national cemetery on Aldridge Street. Where Dad's memorial marker is."
"David’s body was never recovered from the valley," Graves said, his eyes wide with sudden, terrifying comprehension. "The memorial marker in the veterans' plot... it was installed under my personal supervision ten years ago. David’s will had a codicil that only authorized burial on the north quadrant of Aldridge Cemetery."
"The serial number on the tags," I gasped, pulling the silver chain out from my collar.
I looked at the scuffed metal:
BENNETT, DAVID M.
RA 442-90-8812
The last six digits: 90-88-12.
They weren't a standard Department of the Army personnel identifier from that era. They were coordinate offsets. Latitude and longitude offsets for the municipal plat grid of the city of Aldridge.
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"He hid the physical ledger beneath his own empty tombstone," I whispered, awe washing over me. "He knew nobody would ever dig up a Medal of Honor recipient's memorial."
"Until Marcus Vance became desperate enough to desecrate holy ground," Graves snarled, turning to the MP captain who had just arrived on the porch. "Captain! Prep my command vehicle! Alert the city police to lock down a three-mile perimeter around Aldridge National Cemetery! We are moving now!"
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