Chapter 3: Crimson Covenant
659 Words
Tribeca – “The Sanctuary” Private Club
Lucas watched Lynn slice into her steak, her movements precise and deliberate. The silver knife gleamed under the candlelight, cutting at a perfect 135-degree angle. He nearly knocked over the salt shaker. “Holy crap! That’s... Burgundy court etiquette!”
Alexander swirled his wine glass, the crimson liquid reflecting the Freemason symbols on the ceiling. “Correction—it’s the dining etiquette of the Third Order of the Knights Templar, disbanded in 1432. They used knife angles to pass secret messages during banquets with the Avignon Popes.”
Lucas’s jaw dropped. “Are you two discussing some medieval version of The Da Vinci Code?”
Lynn took a bite of her rare steak, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Beneath her collarbone, the Pandora Chip flashed blue. “Or maybe you’d rather hear about why the CIA installed sonic weapons under Manhattan?”
Before anyone could respond, alarms blared through the hall.
A dozen agents in black tactical gear burst through the doors, guns drawn. Their leader held up an FBI badge. “Lynn Winchester, you are under arrest for the theft of classified Department of Defense intel...”
The glass dome above shattered.
In one fluid motion, Lynn leaped onto the crystal chandelier, her black coat spreading behind her like demonic wings. She swung down, landing behind Alexander with predatory grace. The cold barrel of her g*n pressed against his temple. “Tell your boss that if he takes one more step, I’ll lock Fu Corporation’s AI core in a blockchain maze he’ll never crack.”
The agents froze, their fingers tightening on the triggers.
Blood-red phoenix symbols flared on their chests, glowing through body armor.
“Sweetheart,” Alexander’s voice was dangerously soft as his hand closed over hers, the one holding the g*n. The phoenix tattoo on his neck pulsed in sync with the blue light from her chip. “If you want to negotiate, at least bring a decent offer. Or perhaps you’d like to explain how you knew about my acquisitions of three biotech firms on Wall Street?”
Two Hours Earlier – 23 Wall Street
Jacob Chiang (formerly Jiang Moyuan) loosened his Hermès tie, his reflection distorted in the elevator’s mirrored walls. In his hand was an encrypted dossier—“Prophet Project: Subject 13 Observation Report.”
The moment he saw the surveillance footage on the top floor of JPMorgan, his cigar ash fell onto his million-dollar Brioni suit.
The girl who was supposed to be unconscious at the Winchester family’s private hospital was instead hacking into the Federal Reserve’s system using ancient Hebrew ciphers long lost to the Vatican.
“Cancel all my meetings,” he ordered, pressing the button for the private garage. “Contact Homeland Security. Initiate the Phoenix Protocol.”
Present – “The Sanctuary” Club
The alarms cut off abruptly.
The air was thick with tension as Jacob walked into the room, the faint smell of gunpowder trailing behind him. His custom-made Oxford shoes crunched over shattered crystal shards. “The game is over, Lynn.” He raised his left hand, revealing a subcutaneous chip embedded under his skin. “Or should I call you... the last Living Codex of the Knights Templar?”
Lynn’s pupils constricted, a flicker of panic breaking through her cold composure.
Fragments of memory assaulted her mind—moonlit Florence in the fifteenth century, a knight in bloodstained chainmail kneeling before her, offering a rose. His face was identical to the man standing before her now.
Alexander’s laughter shattered the silence. His fingers nimbly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing an intricate symbol over his heart—a sigil composed of Hebrew letters entwined with a double helix of DNA.
“Dearest Great-Grandfather,” Alexander’s smile was mocking, his gaze locked on Jacob, “Are you sure you want to discuss dismantling your precious Immortal Weapon... in front of the DEA?”
- Writer
