Chapter 6 - Fall from the Heights
The concussive blast of the breaching charge threw Eleanor against the heavy mahogany coffee table. Her ears rang with a shrill, deafening hum. Through the billowing smoke, two tactical operatives in full combat gear entered through the shattered balcony doors, their carbines raised.
"Target identified. Secure the child!" a voice barked through a respirator mask.
Lily screamed, scrambling backward against the sofa cushions.
The maternal instinct that had lain dormant for seven years ignited in Eleanor’s veins like wildfire. She didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, grabbed a heavy bronze sculpture from the side table, and swung it with all her strength into the knee of the leading operative. Bone cracked beneath polymer armor, and the man collapsed with a sharp grunt, his weapon clattering across the hardwood floor.
Eleanor grabbed the fallen sidearm—a sleek, suppressed semi-automatic—and fired three rapid rounds into the chest plate of the second intruder. The impact threw him backward through the shattered glass doors onto the wind-swept terrace.
"Lily! Run to the stairs!" Eleanor yelled, grabbing the girl’s wrist.
They didn't take the elevator; the main power grid had already been cut by the assault team. Instead, Eleanor pushed open the heavy emergency exit door, thrusting Lily into the dimly lit stairwell. Down below, heavy boots were already thundering up the concrete steps.
"They're coming up!" Lily cried, tears streaming down her soot-streaked cheeks.
"Then we go up," Eleanor said, slamming the steel door shut and turning the heavy lock bar.
They ran upward, five flights of stairs until they reached the rooftop access door. The frigid November wind hit them like a wall as Eleanor burst onto the wide gravel-and-tar roof overlooking the sprawling metropolis.
A helicopter hovered low over the adjoining helipad, its searchlight cutting through the darkness and pinning Eleanor and Lily against the edge of the parapet.
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Step by step, a tall, impeccably dressed figure stepped out from behind the rooftop elevator housing. He carried an umbrella against the light drizzle, his silver hair neatly combed back.
"Eleanor, my dear," Marcus Vance said smoothly, a predatory smile curling his lips. "You always were so delightfully dramatic. Now, hand over Julian’s little ghost, and let us put this family tragedy to rest."
