Chapter 54 - The Phantom of Ravenscar
The storm hit full fury as our heavily armored Land Rover tore down the coastal tracks toward the abandoned headland of Ravenscar Bastion. Rain slammed against the bulletproof windshield in blinding sheets, wipers struggling against the gale.
Behind us, a secondary SUV carrying Liam’s four best tactical operators maintained a tight three-car-length escort. My father had been safely transferred to an underground medical sanctuary in Bristol under deep cover, leaving only Liam, Eleanor, and me on the offensive.
"Approaching the outer gate," Liam said, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes scanning the night-vision heads-up display projected onto the glass. "Thermal imaging shows zero active signatures on the surface. But that doesn't mean the subterranean vaults are empty."
Ravenscar rose from the rocky cliffs like the skeletal ribcage of a leviathan. Built originally in the seventeenth century as a maritime fortress, then refitted during the Cold War as a naval radar bunker, it sat decaying against the crashing waves of the English Channel.
We breached the rusted iron gates, tires crunching over decades of overgrown gravel and saltweed. Liam cut the headlights fifty yards from the main entrance, rolling to a halt beneath the crumbling stone archway.
"Vests on," Liam commanded, tossing lightweight Kevlar over Eleanor’s head, who caught it clumsily. He then stepped close to me, adjusting the straps of my tactical vest, his fingers brushing against the nape of my neck.
"You don't have to go into the crypt, Maya," he whispered, his eyes filled with fierce protectiveness. "Stay in the vehicle with the support team. I'll retrieve whatever is in the vault."
"No," I replied, checking the sidearm he had taught me to handle months ago. "My father spent seventy years running from these people. If my blood is the key to this nightmare, I am the one who turns the lock."
Liam smiled faintly, kissed my forehead with fierce conviction, and racked the bolt of his rifle. "Point taken. Stay on my six."
We entered through an iron blast door that had been forced open months prior. The air inside smelled of stagnant seawater, sulfur, and ancient dust. Beam after beam of our tactical flashlights pierced the gloom, illuminating vaulted stone ceilings dripping with condensation.
We descended a spiraling spiral staircase, fifty feet into the bedrock, until we reached a reinforced stainless-steel vault door bearing the familiar ouroboros crest.
Standing in the center of the vault floor, illuminated by battery-powered work lights, was a glass display case.
And standing beside it, dressed in an immaculate cashmere coat that contrasted sharply with the rotting stone around him, was Julian.
My ex-husband looked up as our lights hit him. He was thinner than before, dark circles carved deep into his eyes, but his sneering, arrogant smile was unmistakable.
May you like
"You're late, Maya," Julian said smoothly, clapping his gloved hands together. "Though I must admit, bringing Eleanor along is a delightfully sentimental touch."
***
