Chapter 18 - The Siege of the Ridge
The rain at the Blue Ridge cabin had turned into sleet, battering the cedar shingles with the sound of thousands of tiny bullets.
Inside, the stench of burning steel filled the hallway. Sparks rained down like molten gold as the intruder’s thermal lance cut a glowing orange line through the edge of the panic room door.
Inside the cramped space, Ethan clutched Eleanor’s silver pocket watch in his left hand and a heavy, brass-tipped fire extinguisher in his right. His heart beat like a war drum in his chest. His eyes burned from the smoke seeping through the door vents.
"Almost through, Mr. Croft," the man with the torch grunted, his face shielded behind a dark welding mask.
Julian Croft stood behind him, wearing an expensive camel-hair overcoat, checking his gold Patek Philippe watch. His face was pale, glistening with nervous sweat. The radio on his chest had gone completely silent after the sound of gunfire from Savannah.
"Hurry up, damn it!" Julian hissed. "The transponder on Sterling’s private jet just went active out of Hunter Army Airfield. He’s flying straight into the regional strip in Blue Ridge. We have less than thirty minutes before he gets up this mountain!"
"Steel is thick, boss. Three more minutes."
The glowing line connected. With a violent kick from a steel-toed combat boot, the cut section of the panic door was knocked inward, clattering heavily against the floor.
Julian stepped through the gap, flashlight beam cutting through the dense smoke.
Ethan stood in the corner, small, trembling, but his eyes were blazing with pure defiance.
"Come here, Ethan," Julian said, offering a sickeningly warm smile, holding out his hand. "It’s over, son. Your father failed you. But I’m going to take you to someone who has missed you for five years."
"You're a liar," Ethan choked out through the smoke. "My dad never fails."
Ethan hurled the brass fire extinguisher with all the strength in his nine-year-old body. It struck Julian square in the shin. Julian howled in pain, stumbling backward against the doorframe.
The mercenary lunged, grabbing Ethan by the collar of his sweater and hoisting him off the floor like a ragdoll. Ethan fought back viciously, biting down hard on the man’s gloved thumb.
The man cursed, raising his hand to strike the boy across the face—
A deafening gunshot blew out the living room window.
The mercenary’s head snapped sideways as a high-caliber round shattered the drywall an inch from his ear. He dropped Ethan, diving for cover as automatic fire shredded the hallway.
Out in the swirling sleet, the twin rotors of a black Sikorsky UH-60 helicopter hovered twenty feet above the pine trees, its downwash tearing branches from the canopy. High-powered searchlights bathed the front of the cabin in an unearthly, blinding daylight.
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Rappelling ropes dropped through the storm. Daniel Sterling hit the muddy gravel running, assault rifle raised, his face smeared with greasepaint and rain, looking less like a father and more like an angel of death.
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