The pistol clattered to the floor.

With my right hand, I struck him in the throat with a hard, flat palm.

He choked, stumbling backward into the bookcase, before collapsing onto his knees.

I picked up his pistol from the floor and cleared the chamber, throwing the ammunition aside.

I tossed the empty weapon onto the desk in front of Charles.

Charles stared at the gun, then at Mercer, who was gasping for air on the floor.

The Senator did not move. He kept his hands raised.

“I am not here for you, Senator,” I said.

“Where is the secure room?” I asked Charles.

Charles did not answer. He pressed a button under the lip of his desk.

An alarm began to wail through the house, a high-pitched siren that pulsed in time with the storm.

“You won’t leave this estate alive, Hale,” Charles said, his voice trembling but defiant.

“My security team is already moving.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my old satellite phone.

It was a heavy, rugged device, military-grade and encrypted.

I looked at the small digital screen.