Eight-Year-Old Girl Returns U.S. Army General’s Lost Wallet—Then He Sees Her Eviction Notice and Locks the Base Down / Chapter 32 / 44

Chapter 34 - The Ambush at the Alpine Châlet

The alley exploded into gunfire.

Subsonic rounds chewed through our vehicle’s bulletproof glass, turning the windshield into a white web of fractures. But my operators were combat veterans of a dozen deployments.

Cruz kicked open his door, firing three controlled rounds that neutralized the mercenary guarding the loading bay. Two more operators laid down suppressive fire, driving the remaining contractors back into the hotel kitchen.

I broke through the shattered rear doors of the hotel, clearing the grease-slicked kitchen with my weapon raised.

"Bennett! Clear!"

"Up the stairs! Fourth floor!"

I took the service stairs three at a time, my lungs burning, my heart thumping against my ribs in time with the gunshots echoing from above.

When I reached the fourth-floor landing, the smell of cordite was thick enough to choke on.

Two diplomatic security agents lay wounded near the elevators, applying tourniquets to leg wounds.

At the end of the ornate, carpeted hallway, Suite 410’s heavy oak door was riddled with bullet holes. Standing in front of it, holding a thermal breaching charge against the lock, was Henrik Roth’s chief security operative—a hulking mercenary known in European intelligence files simply as "The Jackal."

He sensed my presence and spun around, pulling a customized machine pistol from his sling.

BANG! BANG!

Two rounds from my service pistol caught him in the shoulder and forearm. The heavy charge clattered to the floor, rolling harmlessly across the carpet.

The Jackal lunged with a hunting knife, his face twisted in a feral snarl. But I sidestepped his clumsy thrust, caught his wrist with a joint lock I had perfected at West Point, and drove my knee violently into his ribs.

He gasped, dropping the blade, and I spun him into the wallpapered wall, planting my elbow against his throat until his eyes rolled back and he slumped unconscious onto the floor.

I kicked the shattered door of Suite 410 open.

"Mom!"

Crouched behind an overturned mahogany writing desk in the corner of the suite was Clara Bennett.

She held a heavy brass lamp base like a club, her knuckles white, her emerald-green eyes blazing with absolute defiance. When she saw my face through the dust, the fierce protector melted.

"Ruby," she gasped, dropping the lamp.

I rushed across the room and pulled her into a fierce, bone-crushing hug. She was trembling, but unbroken. Her hair was messy, her silk blouse smudged with soot, but she was alive.

"They didn't get it, baby," Clara whispered against my ear, her voice shaking with triumph. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, encrypted titanium flash drive. "Roth’s men broke in through the balcony to find this. It’s the complete transaction log of the Liechtenstein accounts. Catherine Vance transmitted it to my personal drive an hour before the attack."

"Where is Roth, Mom?" I asked, pulling back and looking into her eyes.

"He fled toward the French border," Clara said, pointing out the shattered balcony window toward the distant snow-capped peaks of the Alps. "He has a private helicopter waiting at his estate in Chamonix. If he crosses the mountain pass into Italy, his private yacht is waiting at Genoa."

I turned to Cruz, who had just stepped through the shattered doorway, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Cruz, secure Mom and get her to the American consulate under full diplomatic guard."

"Where are you going, Colonel?" Clara asked, her voice filled with sudden panic.