Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE AT BROOKLYN
The safe house was a brownstone located on a quiet, tree-lined street in Brooklyn. Outside, two unmarked police cruisers guarded the entrance. Inside, Nora sat in a dimly lit kitchen, sipping hot tea while Mia drew chess patterns on a paper napkin with a blue crayon.
“You should sleep, Mia,” Nora said gently, stroking her hair.
“I’m not tired,” Mia replied. “I’m thinking about move fifteen.”
Nora frowned softly. “Move fifteen?”
“In the game tonight,” Mia explained, looking up. “Grant thought he was playing me. But he was actually playing Dad. Dad wrote out every single move Grant would make ten years ago. He knew Grant’s personality so well that he predicted his exact strategy.”
Nora felt a tear slip down her cheek. “Your father loved games. But he hated cheaters.”
Suddenly, the lights in the brownstone flickered once, twice, and then went completely dark.
The hum of the refrigerator died. Outside, the streetlights abruptly shut off.
Nora froze. “Agent Reed?”
Agent Reed stood up instantly, drawing his sidearm from his shoulder holster. “Stay down. Both of you.”
He moved toward the window and peered through the blinds. The two police cruisers outside were silent. The officers inside them weren't moving—their heads were slumped against the steering wheels.
“Power’s cut. Communications are jammed,” Reed muttered, checking his cell phone—no signal. “They used a localized EMP blip. We’ve been compromised.”
THUD.
The heavy front door was suddenly hit with a breaching charge. The lock shattered with a deafening bang, and smoke began pouring into the hallway.
“Basement! Move!” Reed yelled, shoving Nora and Mia toward the back stairs.
Gunfire echoed through the brownstone. Reed fired three rounds down the dark corridor as shadows moved through the smoke. Nora grabbed Mia’s hand, sprinting down the narrow wooden stairs into the dark basement.
They ducked behind a stack of old wooden crates as footsteps thumped heavy on the floorboards above them.
“They’re coming down,” Nora whispered in terror, clutching Mia to her chest.
Mia’s eyes were wide, but she didn't scream. She looked around the dark basement. Near the wall stood an old fuse box, and beside it hung a heavy iron crowbar used for opening furnace valves.
“Mom,” Mia whispered, pointing at the iron bar. “The fuse box.”
Before Nora could react, the basement door creaked open. Heavy boots descended the steps, one slow step at a time.
A tall figure stepped into the shadows holding a silenced pistol—Victor Vance.
“Nora,” Victor’s voice smooth and cold echoed in the damp air. “Make this easy. Give me the drive, and I’ll make sure your daughter doesn't feel a thing.”
In the dark, Mia reached out quietly, her fingers closing around the iron crowbar. She didn't flinch. She remembered what her father had written on the last page of his notebook:
May you like
“When your enemy thinks they have you cornered, they stop looking at the floor.”
Mia silently swung the iron bar into the main water pipe running along the basement ceiling.
