Chapter 34 - The Blackout Protocol
The sudden darkness was absolute, broken only by the pale blue emergency LEDs lining Veta’s ventilator and the faint glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Down!" Kieran barked, moving with terrifying speed.
He lunged forward, sweeping Sloan and Veta behind the reinforced marble kitchen island just as a sharp, suppressed *crack-crack-crack* shattered the double-paned ballistic glass overlooking the balcony.
High-caliber rounds tore through the plaster, obliterating the pendant lights above the dining table and sending showers of pulverized drywall and crystal raining down.
Marcus was already on his stomach, drawing a suppressed tactical sidearm from his coat with fluid, lethal grace. "Roof insertion," he reported calmly, his voice dropping into the cold cadence of a veteran combatant. "Two teams. Four men on the terrace, at least three coming down the elevator shaft."
"The elevator power was cut," Kieran said, his eyes scanning the pitch-black hallway leading to the master bedroom.
"They brought a winch rig," Marcus replied. "They aren't here to negotiate. Sterling’s backers know the Zurich vault opened. If they kill Veta and Sloan, the biological patents revert to the secondary board of directors under the corporate survivorship clause."
Sloan held Veta tightly against her chest, shielding her daughter’s body with her own. But Veta was not cowering. Her breathing was steady, her mind working with razor-sharp clarity.
"They cut the main grid," Veta whispered, tapping her tablet, which had automatically switched to a battery-backed encrypted local network. "Which means they're using the building’s internal maintenance Wi-Fi to coordinate their comms."
"Can you jam them?" Kieran asked, keeping his weapon trained on the shattered terrace entrance.
"Better," Veta said, her fingers blurring across the glass. "I can hijack the smart-building automation system I re-coded last Tuesday."
Outside on the terrace, heavy tactical boots crunched against broken glass. Shadows moved through the darkness, silhouettes armed with submachine guns moving in a disciplined wedge formation.
"Clear the living room," an accented voice barked into a tactical radio. "Target the girl first. Secure the aluminum case."
"Execute," Veta whispered, hitting a red key on her screen.
Instantly, the penthouse’s fire-suppression system engaged at three hundred percent pressure. High-velocity halogen strobe lights—installed for Veta's sensory calibration tests—flashed at an agonizing forty flashes per second, blinding anyone without specialized polarizing lenses. Simultaneously, the commercial-grade sprinkler heads blasted hundreds of gallons of pressurized industrial fire-retardant foam directly into the entryway.
The intruders cried out in shock and agony as the disorienting strobes destroyed their night-vision goggles, burning their retinas with pure white glare.
May you like
"Now!" Marcus shouted.
***
