From his position 1,150 meters away, "The Eye of Balor," Abine, saw the glint of a rifle scope from the trees on the opposite side of the estate just as he was preparing to take his own shot. He immediately realized he was not the only sniper. He held his fire.
He watched in stunned disbelief as Henry, in an impossible display of speed and grace, dodged the two incoming rounds.
Then, just as Henry seemed to relax after firing his own shots, Abine squeezed the trigger.
A custom-made hexagonal bullet from his Whitworth rifle flew toward Henry's chest at 455 meters per second. It would take three seconds to reach its target.
Henry had just used a pearl to restore his health when the warning flared in his mind again. He looked up. His enhanced vision allowed him to see the bullet streaking toward him, still over 700 meters away.
He took a single, long step to the side and, at the same time, scanned the trees in the distance, following the bullet's trajectory back to its source. He saw it: a slight rustle of leaves in a tall oak tree, over a thousand meters away.
Abine, a man who never fired a second shot, was already untying himself from the tree. It was that slight movement that betrayed him.
Henry stored his Winchester. A Sharps 1878 sporting rifle appeared in his hands. He sacrificed five green pearls and, without a moment's hesitation, fired.
Four seconds later, Abine, still untying his ropes, was nearly decapitated by the massive .50-90 caliber round. His body slumped forward, another grotesque ornament hanging from the trees.
Henry stored the Sharps. One rifle or two, he thought, what's the difference? He couldn't let a sniper that dangerous escape.
The two rifle shots that had been meant for Henry had instead found Gurman, the portly man who had been with Luca. His arms were nearly torn from their sockets.
"Mr. Vanderbilt," Henry said, his voice calm and authoritative, "there were three snipers. They are all dead. Have your men retrieve the bodies. And get everyone else inside the castle, now."
William immediately began to issue orders, his voice sharp and clear. The wounded Gurman was to be sent to the nearest hospital—a small, local one. It was a perfect, legitimate reason to be rid of the man who had been a thorn in his family's side for a generation.
Henry gave the Pinkerton, Tom, the exact locations of the three dead snipers.
An hour later, the three bodies were laid out by the side of the fencing stage. A group of the most powerful men in New York—William Vanderbilt, Senator Garfield, the Pinkerton chief Tom, the city's police commissioner, and a half-dozen lawyers, bankers, and railroad tycoons—stood over them.
"They were all top-tier assassins," Tom was saying. "This one, with the custom Whitworth rifle… the carving on the stock is the Eye of Balor. This is the man himself."
A wave of shocked murmurs went through the group. "The Eye of Balor" was a legend, a ghost, a man who had assassinated dozens of generals, politicians, and tycoons across the globe. He was a boogeyman, the specter of death that haunted the dreams of powerful men.
And now, this legendary sword of Damocles had been shattered by another legend.
What, then, was this man, this Henry, who could kill three of the world's greatest assassins in the span of a few heartbeats?
The men all looked at him with a new, profound sense of awe and respect.
The party moved inside to the grand ballroom for the evening banquet.
The room was a masterpiece of European opulence. A single, thirty-meter-long table was set for seventy guests.
As the guest of honor, Henry was seated at the right hand of the hostess. He found that the woman seated to his own right was the stunning beauty he had noticed earlier, the one who looked like Charlize Theron.
After the banquet, which lasted for over two hours, the party moved outside for a ball in the garden, the grounds lit by over a hundred gas lamps.
Henry's first dance was with Edith.
"Henry," she said, her eyes shining, "thank you for saving Thomas."
"Your wish is my command," he replied, his voice a low, intimate murmur.
She blushed, her heart fluttering.
"I'll be leaving New York after the party tonight," he told her. "I won't be able to escort you on the first."
"So soon?" she asked, a look of disappointment on her face.
"Yes. I have some people I need to go and have a talk with."
"Then you must be safe," she said, her voice filled with a genuine concern.
"I will. And after this dance, I have a gift for you."
When the waltz ended, he led her to a secluded gazebo and presented her with a small, elegant jewelry box. Inside was a stunning diamond necklace.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, and then she threw her arms around him and kissed him.
He danced next with Kaylee and told her of his change of plans.
"So sudden," she said. "Is everything alright?"
"I just have some business to attend to. Keep it a secret for me, will you? And tell the hotel not to check me out for two days."
When the dance was over, a servant came and informed him that he had been summoned to the cigar room.
Inside, half a dozen of the most powerful men in the country were waiting for him.
William Vanderbilt introduced them one by one: Senator Angus Adams, the financier J.P. Morgan, the railroad tycoon Collis Huntington, and the Lieutenant Governor of New-York, Levi P. Morton.