Chapter 12 - The Surrey Estate
The fog lay thick over the Surrey countryside, clinging to the ancient oak trees and damp stone walls of Blackwood Manor.
At 3:00 AM, the grand estate was silent. Security cameras swept the perimeter lawns, their infrared beams cutting through the mist in rhythmic, overlapping patterns.
In the dark tree line overlooking the northern gate, Eleanor Vance lowered her thermal binoculars. She was dressed in black tactical gear, her crimson hair hidden beneath a balaclava. Beside her, Marcus adjusted the suppressor on his rifle.
"Thermal optics show four armed perimeter guards," Marcus whispered. "All former British SAS contractors. The estate is fortified like a fortress."
"She thinks she's untouchable here," Eleanor said softly. "She built a second life out of sight, using the money she stole from the Sterling pension funds."
"What's the play?" Marcus asked.
"No law enforcement," Eleanor replied, her green eyes flashing in the darkness. "If we call Scotland Yard, her high-society contacts will tip her off before the cars reach the gate. She'll vanish into Europe again. We end this ourselves."
Eleanor pulled a small electronic jammer from her pack, attaching it to the main fiber-optic conduit running along the stone wall.
She tapped the key sequence.
Instantly, the estate’s security grid went into a silent diagnostic loop. The infrared cameras froze in place; the automated gate locks disengaged.
Eleanor and Marcus moved across the damp lawn like shadows, clearing the three hundred yards between the gate and the manor’s stone terrace in less than twenty seconds.
Eleanor reached the heavy French doors leading into the library. She used a diamond-tipped glass cutter to score a small circle near the brass latch, reached inside, and unbolted the door.
They slipped into the warm, carpeted interior of Blackwood Manor.
The library smelled of old paper, polished mahogany, and expensive mint tea.
Sitting in a high-backed leather armchair by the flickering fireplace, holding a crystal glass of sherry, was Victoria Sterling.
May you like
She was seventy-two in appearance, but her posture was as rigid, arrogant, and imposing as it had been on the marble floor of the Sterling Residence four years ago.
"I knew you'd come eventually, Eleanor," Victoria said without turning her head. "It took you eleven months. A bit slower than I expected from Arthur Vance's daughter."
