Chapter 36 - Blood in the Rain
Maxwell navigated the opulent, dimly lit hallway of the second floor, his hand resting on the grip of his suppressed pistol beneath his tuxedo jacket. He found Croft's private office at the end of the corridor, guarded by a single, hulking mercenary.
Maxwell didn't hesitate. He stepped out of the shadows, tapped the man on the shoulder, and as the mercenary turned, Maxwell delivered a crushing palm strike to the man's throat, following it up with a heavy pistol whip to the temple. The guard crumpled silently to the thick Persian rug.
Maxwell dragged the body into a nearby utility closet and pushed open the mahogany doors to Croft's office.
The room was lavish, lined with rare books and stolen antiquities. Maxwell immediately moved to the desk, logging into the unsecured terminal. He pulled the titanium flash drive from his pocket—the real one, containing all of Croft's operations—and initiated a mass upload directly to every major news outlet and intelligence agency in the world, bypassing the compromised Interpol channels.
He was at ninety percent when he heard the slow, arrogant clapping behind him.
Maxwell spun around, his pistol raised.
Julian Croft stood in the doorway, a crystal glass of scotch in his hand, flanked by three men with suppressed submachine guns.
"I must admit, Maxwell, you have a flair for the dramatic," Croft smiled, taking a sip of his scotch. "Just like your father. Did you really think I wouldn't be alerted the moment my office door was opened?"
"The upload is already finished, Julian," Maxwell lied smoothly, keeping his gun aimed dead center at Croft's chest. "Your network is exposed. Every shell company, every bribe. It's over."
Croft's smile didn't waver. "Even if that were true, you won't live to see the fallout. Kill him."
Before the mercenaries could raise their weapons, the glass window behind Croft exploded inward.
A hail of suppressed gunfire tore through the office, dropping two of the mercenaries instantly. Martha swung through the shattered window on a repelling line she had rigged from the roof, her gown billowing around her, firing her pistol with lethal precision.
Chaos erupted. Maxwell dove behind the heavy oak desk as the remaining mercenary opened fire, shredding the leather chair where Maxwell had just been sitting.
Martha rolled across the floor, abandoning the rope, and put two rounds into the last mercenary's chest.
Croft, realizing he had lost the upper hand, turned and sprinted down the hallway.
"Upload complete!" the terminal chimed.
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"We have to go!" Martha yelled over the blaring security alarms. The entire club was descending into a panic.
Maxwell grabbed the drive, grabbed Martha's hand, and the two of them sprinted down the back fire escape, descending into the freezing, rain-slicked alleys of Mayfair just as the wail of police sirens began to echo through the London night.
