Chapter 6 - The Perimeter Trap
The explosion outside wasn't a bomb; it was a wall of blinding white light and high-frequency sound.
Three non-lethal flashbang charges, embedded in the overhang of the wooden porch roof, detonated simultaneously. The concussive blast shook the heavy stone cabin, sending a shower of pine dust down from the ceiling rafters.
Screams of shock and agony erupted from the porch outside as the two mercenaries were instantly blinded and disoriented by the two-million-candlepower flashes.
“NOW!” Thomas roared.
He shoved his rifle barrel through the steel port on the front door and emptied four heavy rounds into the shadows on the porch. Beside him, Mara opened fire through the side shutter, her short-barreled carbine barking in rapid, controlled two-round bursts.
BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG!
Cries of pain echoed from the driveway as one of the mercenaries fell off the side of the porch into the mud, his weapon clattering uselessly against the stone steps.
“RETREAT! PULL BACK TO THE VEHICLES!” a voice screamed from the gloom outside.
Through the narrow view-slot, I saw the second Suburban reverse rapidly down the driveway, its tires screaming against the wet gravel, its rear window shattered by Mara’s rifle fire.
The remaining mercenaries scattered into the dense hemlock trees, leaving two of their men lying motionless on the muddy lawn beneath the yellow glow of the porch lantern.
Thomas didn't celebrate. He instantly unlatched the front shutter, racking another round into his Remington rifle.
“They’re falling back to regroup,” Thomas said, his breathing even and slow. “Petrov isn't stupid. He knows he can't breach the front door without heavy explosives. He’s going to use the rear.”
“The rear?” Mara turned, her carbine pointed toward the dark back corridor of the cabin that led deeper into the cliff face. “I thought the back was solid granite.”
“It’s an old naval bunker access tunnel,” Thomas explained, walking quickly toward a heavy steel hatch set into the rear stone wall behind the woodstove. “It leads down six hundred feet to an old drainage adit that opens into the valley below. I put a secondary lock on it ten years ago, but if Petrov brought a thermal lance—”
KZZZZZZZT.
A harsh, bright blue spark hissed from the edges of the rear steel hatch.
The smell of melting iron and burning rubber filled the cabin’s small kitchen area. The steel around the hatch lock began to glow a deep, terrifying cherry-red as a high-temperature cutting torch was applied from the tunnel side.
“He sent a team up through the drainage adit while he distracted us at the front,” Mara gasped, backing away from the hatch with her weapon raised.
“Elise!” Thomas grabbed my shoulder, dragging me and Noah out from behind the woodstove. “Take the boy into the side storage pantry! Lock the door from the inside! There’s an emergency exit hatch in the floor that leads to the creek bed!”
“No!” I cried, clutching Noah to my chest. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Elise, listen to me!” Thomas grabbed my face in his thick, weathered hands, forcing me to look him directly in the eyes. “Your father died protecting this country from men like Petrov. I’ve spent twenty-five years in the dark so you and Mara could grow up in a world where you didn't have to look over your shoulder! You take that boy and you RUN!”
The rear steel hatch gave a violent CRACK.
The central iron deadbolt sheared off under the intense heat of the thermal torch. The heavy metal door swung inward with a loud bang, bouncing off the stone wall.
A figure stepped through the smoke and sparks into the cabin kitchen.
He was wearing a black tactical suit, his face covered by a dark balaclava, a silenced submachine gun held at his waist. But as he raised his head, he pulled the mask down to his chin.
It was Caleb.
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His face was streaked with soot and rainwater, his left arm bleeding from a graze wound near his elbow, but his eyes were completely focused on me.
“Hello, Elise,” Caleb said, his voice quiet against the hiss of the melting steel. “Give me our son.”
