Was **Julian Vance**!
Beside him stood three Swiss factoring litigators, clutching leather briefcases, checking their watches as the midnight deadline ticked down!
“SEVER THE SECONDARY CRYOGENIC NITROGEN COUPLING!” Julian Vance roared over the deafening noise of the drill motors, his cultured baritone cracking into pure, terrified mania:
“WE HAVE ELEVEN MINUTES BEFORE THE ZURICH CHANCERY REGISTRY LOCKS! ONCE THE SHAFT COLLAPSES, OLIVIA MERCER WON’T HAVE A PHYSICAL REDOUBT LEFT TO INHERIT!”
“FLARE AND BREACH!” Admiral Mercer roared through the vehicle intercom.
Our lead armored BearCat did not touch the brakes.
It accelerated straight through the ruined timber stanchions at forty-five miles per hour!
*KABOOOOM.*
*CRASH-ROAR-SHATTER.*
The industrial security barriers were obliterated inward, sheared off at their concrete footings, sending steel pipes and warning signs tumbling across the wet tarmac!
The four tactical vehicles slid to an aggressive, synchronized halt in a semi-circle around the pumphouse, their forty-thousand-lumen searchlights pinning Julian Vance and his contractors in blinding, incandescent daylight!
