Chapter 60 - The Submerged Vault
The Audi’s twin-turbo V8 roared to life with a ferocious, guttural snarl that shook the concrete foundation of the garage.
I slammed the transmission into reverse, flooring the accelerator. The heavy all-wheel-drive wagon surged backward, bursting through the partially raised garage door, tearing the twisted aluminum frame completely out of the wall.
"Hold on!" I screamed.
I spun the wheel, whipping the rear of the car around as automatic fire erupted from the treeline bordering the villa's driveway. Rounds slammed into the reinforced ballistic glass with deafening *thwacks*, creating spiderweb fractures across the driver’s side window, but the armor held.
Anthony stood on the pier fifty yards away, illuminated by the boat's searchlight. He didn't run. He didn't flinch. He simply stood beside Isabella’s corpse, raising his cane toward our car, like an emperor directing an execution.
Two more black tactical SUVs were already tearing down the private mountain road that led out of the estate, their high beams cutting through the pine trees, blocking the main gate.
"We're boxed in!" Khloe shouted from the passenger seat, twisting around to press her hand against Grace's vibrating car seat. "Marcus, there’s no road out! The lake is on our left, the cliff is on our right, and their trucks are blocking the gate!"
"We aren't taking the road," I snarled through clenched teeth.
I shifted into drive, floored the gas pedal, and turned the steering wheel hard to the left—straight toward the edge of the lawn, directly toward the private wooden boat ramp that sloped down into the black, freezing abyss of Lake Geneva.
"Marcus, what are you doing?!" Khloe shrieked. "Grace is in the back! Are you insane?!"
"Trust me!" I yelled. "Hold Grace! Brace!"
The Audi launched off the end of the wooden dock at forty miles per hour.
For one terrifying second, we were completely airborne over the black water, suspended in the blinding white glare of Anthony's searchlight. Then, gravity tore us down.
*CRASH!*
The car hit the icy surface of Lake Geneva with an explosion of white spray. But instead of sinking, the vehicle shuddered violently as it struck something solid beneath the surface—a submerged hydraulic concrete ramp designed for the villa's hidden submarine boat dock, constructed decades ago by cold war smugglers.
The heavy chassis skidded across the underwater track, water slamming against the windshield up to the wipers, before the heavy tires found traction on the concrete floor of the submerged tunnel.
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I slammed on the gas again. The Audi plunged forward through three feet of standing water, entering the dark, arched cavern beneath the cliffside, disappearing into the subterranean drainage network that cut straight under the Swiss mountains toward the French border.
Behind us, a massive explosion rocked the boathouse above as Anthony's men fired a rocket-propelled grenade into the pier, bringing tons of flaming timber down into the water where we had just been.
