Chapter 108 - Breach on Capitol Hill
Two in the morning.
The private estate of Senator Thomas Vance was an imposing neo-Georgian mansion located on five secluded acres in Kalorama, Northwest Washington.
The estate was fortified like a forward operating base: nine-foot brick walls topped with razor wire, infrared motion detectors, and a dedicated security detail.
Tonight, the circular driveway was packed with armored town cars and black Suburbans.
Inside the chandelier-lit grand salon, Vance was hosting an emergency conclave of twelve defense executives and intelligence division chiefs.
They believed they were untouchable behind the private security cordon, drinking vintage port while discussing the media containment of the Fort Meade breach.
They did not know that the power grid supplying the entire Kalorama neighborhood was about to fail.
Three hundred yards away, stationed inside an industrial utility truck, the Admiral bypassed the municipal transformer relay.
At exactly 0214 hours, the lights across Kalorama abruptly vanished into total darkness.
The mansion's backup generators attempted to kick on, but Miller had already severed the secondary fuel lines with a high-caliber sniper round from the tree line.
In the sudden, blinding pitch-black, Claire moved.
She breached the southern perimeter wall using a carbon-fiber grappling line, dropping into the manicured garden without a sound.
The first two private contractors guarding the terrace never had time to raise their night-vision goggles.
Claire moved through them like a ghost, delivering two non-lethal, incapacitating strikes to their nerve centers before vanishing through the French doors.
Inside the darkened mansion, chaos erupted.
Men in expensive business suits shouted in confusion as their security guards fumbled for flashlights and sidearms.
"Get the Senator to the panic room!" the security commander barked over the radio.
Claire stepped into the main corridor, illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight filtering through the skylights.
She wore full combat black, her suppressed sidearm raised, her face completely obscured behind the matte-black tactical visor of the 187th Reconnaissance Unit.
Two armed contractors lunged down the hallway, weapons raised.
Claire closed the distance with terrifying velocity, redirecting the first rifle barrel upward with her left gauntlet while driving her combat blade through the second guard's shoulder joint.
She spun, sweeping the first guard's legs out from beneath him and driving her elbow into his jaw, dropping him instantly to the parquet floor.
The hallway went dead silent.
The remaining guards backed away toward the grand salon doors, their flashlights shaking violently as they aimed into the darkness.
"Who is out there?!" a contractor yelled, his voice cracking with fear.
Claire walked forward, step by steady step, her combat boots clicking rhythmically against the marble floor.
She stepped directly into the beam of their tactical lights, standing tall and immovable like an avenging specter.
On the left breast of her combat vest, gleaming in the harsh white light, was the unmarked silver insignia of the One-Eighty-Seven.
The security guards froze, their weapons lowering by an inch as sheer recognition paralyzed their limbs.
Every private contractor in Washington knew the legend of the operator who had eradicated entire terrorist networks across four continents without leaving a trace.
"Stand down," Claire whispered, her voice amplified through her tactical comms system like thunder rolling over the plains.
"Or die for a man who won't even remember your names tomorrow."
The guards looked at each other, then at the blood pooling from their commander's shoulder.
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One by one, they dropped their weapons to the floor and stepped back against the walls with their hands raised.
Claire walked right past them, kicking open the double doors of the grand salon.
