Chapter 9 - The Edge of the Abyss
The three heavy rounds punched through the helicopter door, striking Kaelen in the center of her chest.
The impact drove her backward into the cockpit, her submachine gun discharging harmlessly into the stormy night sky.
The aircraft’s turbine sputtered, choking on metal debris from the damaged antenna before whining down into silence.
The spinning rotor blades slowed, slicing through the driving rain with a rhythmic, dying whistle.
Arthur walked toward the battered aircraft, his pistol still raised, his hand remarkably steady despite the storm.
Agent Thorne moved up behind him, covering the opposing side of the fuselage with practiced tactical discipline.
Kaelen lay slumped across the center console, clutching her chest as bright arterial blood seeped through her black tactical sweater.
She looked up at Arthur, her breathing shallow, wheezing with the distinct rattle of a punctured lung.
"You... actually did it, Artie," she gasped, blood spilling past her broken teeth.
Arthur holstered his weapon and reached into the cockpit, grabbing her by the collar and dragging her out onto the wet helipad.
She hit the slick concrete with a wet thud, offering no resistance, her strength draining into the puddles around her.
"Where is the master key for the Zurich servers?" Arthur demanded, towering over her like an avenging shadow.
Kaelen coughed, a terrible, rattling laugh escaping her throat.
"You think... this ends with me?" she whispered, her eyes rolling upward toward the stormy clouds.
"Who else is involved, Kaelen?" Thorne demanded, kneeling beside her and pressing a combat dressing to her chest.
"Julian... was just... the buyer," Kaelen choked out, her scarred fingers feebly clawing at the concrete.
"Who hired you to infiltrate my family?" Arthur asked, leaning down until his eyes reflected the city lights below.
"Look at the ledger, Arthur..." Kaelen breathed, her voice turning into a wet, barely audible whisper.
"What is in the ledger?" Arthur insisted, his heart hammering against his cracked ribs.
"Your father... didn't die because of shipping routes," she rasped, her hand reaching up to touch Arthur's cheek.
Arthur slapped her hand away with utter disgust.
"Don't touch me," he snarled.
Kaelen’s cold eyes flashed with a final, dying flicker of amusement.
"He died... because he found out... you weren't his son," Kaelen whispered.
Arthur froze, the words detonating inside his brain with the force of an artillery shell.
"What did you say?" Arthur breathed, the world tilting beneath his feet once again.
"Your mother... and Julian," Kaelen wheezed, her smile grotesque and bloody. "You belong... to Julian, Artie."
"You're lying!" Arthur screamed into the howling rain. "You're a sociopath and a liar!"
"Check... the Swiss vault... DNA registry... box seven-four-one," Kaelen murmured, her voice fading to a ghost.
Her eyes slowly lost their focus, staring blankly past Arthur into the dark, indifferent expanse of the Manhattan sky.
Her chest rose once, hitched on a pocket of blood, and then settled into complete, motionless silence.
The Viper of Prague, the woman who had lived as Isabella Vance for two years, was dead.
Arthur stood in the pouring rain, looking down at the scarred corpse of the woman who had dismantled his life.
Thorne checked the assassin's carotid artery, held two fingers there for five seconds, and then looked up at Arthur.
"She's gone," Thorne said quietly, standing up and letting the rain wash the blood from her hands.
Arthur didn't speak; he couldn't speak.
The rain beat down upon his bare head, soaking through his torn tuxedo and washing away the last traces of his wedding day.
Thorne placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice softening for the first time since they met.
"We have to go downstairs, Arthur. The task force is waiting."
Arthur turned his head slowly, looking out over the edge of the eighty-story tower at the infinite lights of the city below.
Everything he had believed about his father, his name, his bloodline, and his love had been incinerated in less than twelve hours.
"Agent Thorne," Arthur said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth, grief, or fear.
"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne?" Thorne asked.
May you like
Arthur looked back at the dead assassin, then reached down and picked up her water-resistant encrypted phone from the concrete.
"Get your team ready," Arthur commanded, his eyes reflecting the cold blue light of the storm. "We're going to Switzerland."
