Chapter 4 - The Blackout Ambush
The instant the vault went pitch black, the deafening hum of the backup generators failed to kick on. Marcella’s men had severed the main breaker lines.
"Nico!" Vivia’s voice called out through the darkness, laced with panic. "I can't see anything!"
"Stay down," Nico commanded, his voice low and razor-sharp.
He pulled a heavy tactical flashlight from the server room drawer, clicking it on. The sharp white beam sliced through the darkness, illuminating the concrete walls and the heavy steel door.
"Rafe, take Vivia through the sub-level drainage tunnel behind the wine racks," Nico ordered, tossing him a heavy master key. "It leads out to the boathouse at the edge of the lake. Take the Range Rover parked in the shed and don't stop until you reach the federal courthouse downtown."
Rafe caught the key, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving you behind, Nico. There are four armed mercenaries up there!"
"They don't want you," Nico said, sliding a heavy steel pry bar out of the maintenance kit. "They want this drive. And Marcella won't leave the country until she knows it's destroyed. Go. Now!"
Rafe hesitated for half a second before grabbing Vivia's arm. "Come on, Viv. Move!"
As their footsteps faded down the maintenance tunnel, Nico walked straight to the reinforced vault door. He unlocked the electronic release manually with the backup wrench, slowly swinging the heavy steel door open into the dark service corridor.
The air outside smelled of sulfur and hot rifle barrels.
Nico moved like a shadow. He didn't use the flashlight now; he knew every inch of this mansion since childhood. He moved along the walls, his footsteps completely silent on the concrete floor, heading toward the grand staircase leading to the helipad on the north wing roof.
Halfway down the corridor, the beam of a tactical weapon light swept across the ceiling.
"Target's out of the vault," a guard whispered into his comms. "He's heading for the stairs. I'm moving in to intercept."
The mercenary rounded the corner, rifle raised, sweeping the hallway.
He never saw Nico coming.
Nico stepped out from the alcove behind him, swinging the heavy steel pry bar in a brutal, tight arc. The solid metal slammed against the guard's wrist with a sickening crack, sending the assault rifle clattering across the floor. Before the man could scream, Nico stepped inside his reach, drove a savage palm strike into his chin, and slammed him face-first into the concrete wall.
The guard crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Nico didn't waste a second. He stripped the man's tactical vest, grabbed his sidearm—a customized 9mm Glock—and snatched the communication headset from the mercenary's ear.
He popped the headset on just in time to hear Davis speaking:
"Helicopter is spooled up on the roof. Marcella, you have two minutes to board. The FAA flight plan to the Cayman Islands is already cleared. Leave the rest of the security team to burn the server room."
"What about Nico?" Marcella's voice demanded over the radio, tense and frantic. "Did you find the body?"
"He’s loose in the north wing, but he won't make it to the roof," Davis answered. "I have the access stairwell covered."
Nico pressed the push-to-talk button on his collar.
"You're wrong, Davis," Nico said calmly into the mic. "I'm already behind you."
On the rooftop above, the heavy rumble of helicopter blades began to vibrate through the building structure. Nico kicked open the fire exit door and sprinted up the final flight of stairs two at a time.
He slammed through the roof access door, stepping out into the roaring gale of rain and spinning rotor blades.
Across the wet tarmac of the private helipad, the luxury twin-engine chopper was hovering six feet off the ground. Davis stood on the landing pad with his rifle raised, while Marcella leaned out of the open passenger cabin door, screaming at the pilot to lift off.
Davis spotted Nico burst through the door and raised his rifle. "Drop the gun, Nico!"
Nico didn't drop it. He raised his 9mm, took aim not at Davis, but at the helicopter’s exposed tail-rotor hydraulic line, and pulled the trigger three times.
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sparks erupted from the chopper's tail assembly. A jet of high-pressure red hydraulic fluid sprayed into the air, and the helicopter lurched violently to the side, its tail spinning out of control as the pilot fought desperately to keep the aircraft from flipping over.
