Chapter 4 - Breach
The blast wave rattled the wine glasses in the kitchen cabinets and blew out the pilot light on the sub-basement furnace.
"Nathan!" Rosa screamed over the intercom, her voice cracking with terror. "The side door! Someone just blew the service entrance!"
"Get away from the hallway!" Nathan shouted into the console mic, springing out of his chair. He drew the Sig Sauer from his waistband, thumbing the safety off with a sharp click. "Take the babies and Lily into the safe room behind the pantry. Lock the steel bulkhead from the inside and do not open it for anyone—do you hear me? Anyone except me!"
"They're coming in, Nathan—"
"Go! Now!"
Nathan didn't wait to hear her move. He bolted out of the command center and sprinted down the dark hallway, his tactical flashlight cutting a sharp beam through the swirling dust and smoke drifting from the back utility wing.
The reinforced steel service door was warped inward, its heavy electronic deadbolts snapped clean off their mountings like dry twigs. Shrapnel was embedded in the wooden wainscoting, and the smell of industrial C4 and burnt copper hung thick in the freezing air.
He dropped into a low combat crouch, sliding around the corner of the pantry corridor, pressing his back flat against the wall.
Footsteps. Heavy, measured, crunching over broken glass and plaster.
One.
Two.
Two men in tactical black gear, wearing thermal balaclavas and carrying suppressed short-barreled rifles, stepped through the smoking threshold. They moved with professional, military-grade precision, sweeping their weapon barrels left and right.
"Clear," the first one muttered through a comm-link.
" Sector two is dead. Move toward the main living area. Kane wants the package secured before local law enforcement even realizes cell towers are jammed."
Nathan didn't hesitate.
He stepped out from the shadows, his aim steady, breathing slow and controlled the way he did before making a critical incision.
Bang. Bang.
Two muffled pops echoed down the narrow corridor.
The lead operative dropped instantly, a clean round taking out his knee before he hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. The second operative spun around, his rifle barrel swinging toward Nathan’s chest with terrifying speed.
Nathan shifted his weight, squeezing the trigger a third time.
The second man’s weapon flew from his hands as a bullet clipped his shoulder, spinning him hard against the drywall. He slid down, groaning in pain, clutching his bleeding arm.
"Don't move," Nathan said, stepping forward and kicking the man’s dropped rifle across the floor. He pressed the barrel of his pistol directly between the operative’s eyes. "Who sent you?"
The man looked up through his torn balaclava, a grim, defiant smirk twisting his lips even as blood dripped down his chin. "You think... you're safe in this glass cage, Doctor? Kane owns half the state police, the district attorney, and the county sheriff. You can't shoot your way out of a conspiracy."
"Try me," Nathan murmured, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger.
Before the man could answer, a loud, metallic screech echoed from the front foyer.
Nathan’s blood ran cold.
The front doors—heavy, custom-forged oak and iron—weren't picked or blown. They were being ripped open by the hydraulic winch of Marcus’s second vehicle, a second armored SUV that had pulled right up to the front porch steps.
Through the shattered front entryway, framed by swirling snow and blinding white light, Marcus Kane stepped into the house.
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He wasn't holding a weapon. He was holding a tablet displaying a live thermal scan of the safe room at the end of the hall.
"Save your bullets, Nathan," Marcus smiled, his breath pluming in the freezing air of the ruined foyer. "You're a brilliant surgeon, but you're fighting a war you lost seven years ago."
