Chapter 6 - The Villa on Lake Geneva
Rain fell in heavy, rhythmic sheets over Lake Geneva, blurring the distant lights of the Swiss Alps into smeared streaks of silver and white. A black Mercedes-Maybach glided silently up the winding, tree-lined driveway of Villa Vance, stopping just short of the wrought-iron security gates.
The estate was a sprawling, nineteenth-century stone mansion surrounded by manicured gardens, electric fences, and infrared motion sensors. Two armed private guards in dark raincoats stepped out from the gatehouse, their flashlights cutting through the downpour as they approached the driver's window.
Prescott lowered the front glass three inches. He didn't offer an ID. He simply held out an encrypted satellite phone displaying a live video feed of Viktor Vance’s personal wealth management accounts in Zurich—currently being drained at a rate of ten million dollars every thirty seconds by my cyber-operations team in London.
The head guard looked at the phone, his face draining of color. He immediately tapped his earpiece, spoke a few quick words in French, and hit the gate release. The heavy iron gates swung open with a low, hydraulic groan.
We parked near the front portico. I stepped out into the freezing rain, adjusted my coat, and walked straight toward the heavy double doors. Prescott and two of my tactical operatives followed half a step behind, their hands resting inside their coat pockets on silenced submachine guns.
The front doors were opened by an elderly butler who looked pale and terrified. "Mr. Mercer... His Lordship is waiting in the library."
We crossed the marble foyer, our wet shoes leaving dark tracking marks across immaculate Persian rugs. The library was a massive, two-story room filled with thousands of leather-bound books, a roaring stone fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the storm-tossed lake.
Sitting in a high-backed wing chair by the fire was Baron Viktor Vance. He was in his late seventies, with silver hair, sharp feature lines, and cold, pale eyes that showed neither surprise nor fear. He held a glass of scotch in one hand and a gold fountain pen in the other.
"Lawson," Viktor said, his voice smooth, refined, and completely devoid of warmth. "I expected you to call before invading my home. Ransacking my Zurich accounts is rather ungentlemanly, even for a American security contractor."
"Where is the master key for sub-level three?" I demanded, stepping into the warm firelight, skipping all pleasantries.
Viktor took a slow sip of his scotch, setting the glass on the small mahogany table beside him. "I see Franklin’s tactical team failed to secure your signature in Chicago. I warned him that underestimating you was dangerous. You always were a dog that bites when cornered."
"Where is the key, Viktor?" I took another step forward, my shadow stretching long and dark across the floor toward his chair. "Jonah and Blythe have six days left. I am not leaving this room without the credentials to open that vault."
Viktor looked up at me, a faint, condescending smile touching his thin lips. "Those children are my blood, Lawson. Do you truly believe I take pleasure in their condition? It is a biological necessity. The Genesis Protocol requires absolute precise execution. Their sacrifices will pave the way for a generation of human medical manipulation that will eliminate disease entirely."
Before he could finish his sentence, I surged forward, grabbing Viktor by his silk lapels, lifting his frail body out of the chair, and slamming him hard against the stone mantelpiece of the roaring fireplace. His scotch glass shattered on the hearth.
Prescott’s men instantly stepped to the doors, raising their weapons as two of Viktor’s private bodyguards drew their sidearms from the balcony above.
"Stand down!" Prescott barked at the guards above. "Or your boss dies right here!"
Viktor gasped for air, his cold eyes finally flickering with a spark of genuine shock as my hand tightened around his throat.
"You speak about my children as sacrifices one more time," I hissed, my voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet rasp, "and I will throw you into that fire."
"You... you can't open the vault... without my retina," Viktor choked out, his face turning red under my grip. "Even with the keycard... the biometric scanner requires live... arterial blood flow. If you kill me... your children die."
I stared into his eyes for three long seconds, feeling the pulse hammering in his neck. I knew he was telling the truth. The Helvetia security protocols were built on military-grade bio-authentication.
I eased my grip slightly, letting him slump against the stone mantel, though I kept one hand pinned firmly against his collarbone.
"Then you're coming with us," I said.
Viktor coughed, adjusting his twisted necktie with trembling, aristocratic hands. "You are insane, Lawson. The Geneva annex is currently locked down under a Tier-1 alert. The moment my biometric signature approaches the perimeter outside of standard business hours, the automated security systems will alert Aetherius's central board in Frankfurt."
"Good," I said, reaching into my coat and pulling out a heavy set of titanium zip-ties. I bound his wrists tightly behind his back. "Let them know we're coming. I want every coward on that board watching on their security screens when I rip their research out of the ground."
I turned to Prescott. "Bring the transport around to the rear entrance. We move on the annex now."
Elena stepped out from the shadows near the library doors, looking at her uncle with a mixture of disgust and deep, sorrowful betrayal.
Viktor looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "Elena... you always were the weak sister. Genevieve understood power. You only understand sentiment."
May you like
Elena walked up to him, looked him dead in the eye, and slapped him across the face with all the force left in her body.
"Genevieve died protecting her children from you," Elena said, her voice shaking with quiet fury. "And tonight, we finish what she started."
