Chapter 7 - The Rotor Blades
The French doors facing the Atlantic ocean terrace blew inward with an explosive crash, shattering the antique glass panes into a thousand glittering diamonds. A fierce, freezing gale whipped through the grand foyer, extinguishing half the candles and sending Elena’s dark velvet gown billowing out around her like the wings of a crow.
Hovering mere feet from the cliffside terrace, defying the howling ocean wind, was a matte-black military-grade Sikorsky heavy-lift helicopter. The side door was slid wide open, and standing on the skid with a tactical harness secured around his waist was Julian Vance.
In his hands, Julian held an assault-grade pneumatic grappling launcher.
"Drop the weapon, David!" Julian’s amplified voice boomed over the helicopter’s external PA speakers, cutting through the roar of the rotors.
David Rossi whipped around, drawing his Walther PPK and aiming it toward the open terrace doors, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Julian fired.
THWUMP.
The steel grappling hook slammed directly into the stone wall inches from David’s hand, deploying a high-tension cable that automatically retracted with blistering speed. The cable wrapped around David’s wrist and gun, yanking him off his feet and dragging him violently across the marble floor straight out toward the open terrace doors.
David screamed as he was hauled through the broken glass, dangling twenty feet in the air beneath the hovering helicopter.
"Secure him!" Julian shouted to a tactical operator inside the cabin, who hauled David aboard like a landed fish.
Elena Thorne didn't flinch. She didn't scream. She simply turned her head slowly toward the open terrace, her face settling into an expression of cold, frozen amusement.
"You always were entirely too thorough, Julian," Elena said smoothly, not raising her voice to compete with the rotors.
Julian stepped off the helicopter skid onto the stone terrace, his silver hair blowing wildly in the wind, a tactical vest strapped over his charcoal suit. He walked into the foyer, stepping over broken glass, his eyes locked entirely on Elena.
"You should have stayed in the Alps, Elena," Julian said, his voice flat and deadly. "The glacier was a much better resting place than a prison cell."
Marcus used the momentary distraction to thrust his elbow backward into the ribs of the guard holding his right arm, spinning around and driving his fist into the second guard's jaw. The man crumpled unconscious to the floor. Marcus immediately lunged forward, grabbing a heavy brass fireplace poker and swinging it around to shatter the zip-ties binding Khloe’s wrists.
"Are you okay?" Marcus asked frantically, pulling Khloe into his arms as she slumped forward against his chest.
"My... my water just broke, Marcus," Khloe gasped, her face pale as she gripped his lapel with trembling fingers. "The contractions... they're two minutes apart. We need a hospital, and we need it now."
Marcus looked up at Julian. "Get the helicopter down. We need an obstetrician immediately."
"The chopper is fully rigged as a mobile ICU," Julian yelled over the wind. "My medical team is on board. We can lift off right now!"
Elena laughed—a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the chaos. She reached slowly inside her velvet gown, her hand slipping into a concealed holster beneath the fabric.
"Nobody is leaving," Elena whispered, her eyes flashing with a mad, desperate brilliance. "If I can't have the Thorne empire, then nobody will."
She pulled a heavy, military-grade detonator box from her pocket, her thumb resting directly over the red toggle switch.
"The entire foundation of this cliffside mansion is wired with five hundred pounds of commercial demolition charge," Elena smiled, her voice eerily calm. "If I flip this switch, this entire estate—and everyone inside it—will slide directly into the Atlantic trench before you can even lift off the pad."
Marcus froze. Khloe clutched her stomach, crying out in pain as another wave hit her.
Julian Vance didn't blink. He didn't hesitate.
With a speed that defied his age, Julian drew a compact Heckler & Koch pistol from his holster and fired a single, perfectly aimed round.
CRACK.
The bullet struck the detonator box directly in Elena’s hand, shattering the electronic circuits into a shower of sparks. The force of the impact spun Elena backward against the marble fireplace mantel.
May you like
Before she could recover, Julian was across the room, kicking the shattered remains of the detonator away and pinning Elena’s arms behind her back with industrial-grade restraints.
"Game over, Elena," Julian breathed heavily into her ear. "The federal marshals are landing three choppers on the lower lawn right now. You're going away for the rest of your natural life."
