Chapter 8 - The Sky Falls
The sound of the helicopter blades chopping through the dense morning mist shook the walls of the safehouse. Damian frowned, his composed expression slipping for a fraction of a second as he turned toward the open front door.
""Is that our transport?"" Damian asked the operative holding Nora's arm.
""No, sir,"" the man replied, pressing a hand against his earpiece, his face turning pale under the tactical balaclava. ""Air traffic control didn't clear our tail number. That's a private corporate bird coming in low over the tree line.""
In the momentary confusion, Thomas made his move.
The zip-tie around his wrists snapped against the razor-sharp edge of the brass lamp base he had been sawing against. He didn't rise to his feet; he swept his legs outward in a brutal scythe, taking out the guard holding Nora. The man crashed heavily onto the floorboards, his weapon spinning across the room.
""Down!"" Thomas roared.
Nora threw herself flat onto the rug, covering Maya with her entire torso.
The helicopter swept over the cabin at tree-top level. The deafening downdraft tore the rotten shingles from the roof, and suddenly the front porch erupted in blinding light and high-caliber gunfire. But the rounds weren't coming into the house—they were tearing into Damian’s black SUVs parked along the driveway, turning the engines into smoking heaps of melted steel.
Damian cursed, firing three rapid shots through the window toward the clearing before diving for cover behind the stone hearth. ""Traitor!"" he screamed at Thomas. ""Who did you call?""
""I didn't call anyone,"" Thomas yelled back, grabbing the fallen operative's sidearm and firing two rounds into the hallway to pin Damian down. He seized Nora's collar, hauling her toward the back kitchen door. ""Arthur has more friends than just me.""
They burst through the kitchen screen into the torrential back garden just as four figures in unmarked black flight suits descended on fast ropes from the hovering black chopper. They hit the wet lawn with absolute precision, assault rifles raised, sweeping the tree line.
The lead operator lowered his visor, sprinting directly toward Nora and Thomas. He raised a hand, signaling a cease-fire.
""Nora Miller?"" the operator yelled over the roar of the rotors.
""Yes!"" she screamed back, rain plastering her hair to her forehead.
""Your father sent us. We are extraction team Bravo."" He turned to Thomas, nodding sharply. ""Vance, you look like hell.""
""I've felt better,"" Thomas grunted, clutching his bleeding shoulder. ""Damian is inside the cabin. Take him.""
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""Orders are extraction only,"" the operator shouted back, shoving them toward the waiting harness ropes. ""The old man was very clear. He doesn't want Damian dead. He wants him broke. Move! We have ninety seconds before federal radar locks onto this bird!""
Nora looked back at the burning cabin as she was strapped into the heavy winch harness alongside Thomas. Through the smoke and pouring rain, Damian staggered onto the broken porch, his face twisted in utter rage, watching helplessly as the harness hoisted them up into the howling belly of the aircraft.
