Chapter 9
The heavy wind from the brewing storm outside howled through the broken window panels of the penthouse office, scattering loose papers and shards of glass across the white rug like a vortex. The red emergency lights from the prison yard below cast long, bloody streaks across Victor Vance’s frantic face as he aimed his revolver at the satellite server array.
"Don't do it, Victor," Leo said, his voice flat, dropping into a low, steady register as he walked slowly toward his brother. He didn't raise his rifle; he kept his hands open, trying to stabilize the situation. "The file is already 80% uploaded. If you shoot that terminal, the emergency protocol will automatically trigger a permanent federal backup wipe. You won't just destroy the data; you’ll activate the international red notices for every one of your buyers in Europe. They will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
"I don't care! I'd rather see this entire country burn than let a little punk like you take my empire!" Victor screamed, his teeth bared in an animalistic snarl, his hand shaking violently against the grip of the gun.
Beside Leo, Jax was slowly raising his submachine gun, his eyes locked onto Victor’s chest. "Give the word, kid. I'll slide a bullet through his heart before he can press that trigger."
"No, Jax. Stay down," Leo ordered without looking back.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic clanking sound echoed from the private elevator shaft behind them. The steel cables began to groan under a sudden, heavy weight. The emergency backup brakes had been manually released from the ground floor.
The doors of the elevator were violently blown off their hinges by a heavy breaching charge, filling the hallway with thick white smoke and blue fire. A team of six elite operators wearing advanced exoskeleton armor and carrying high-powered energy rifles rushed into the penthouse suite. These weren't city cops or corrupt guards; these were Director Vance’s personal, high-level extraction squad sent to clean up the entire floor.
"Secure the terminal! Eliminate all witnesses!" the squad leader barked through his helmet speaker.
"It seems our time is up, brother," Leo murmured, his military reflexes kicking in instantly.
He didn't fire at Victor; instead, Leo grabbed Jax by his heavy orange sleeve and dove behind the solid concrete pillar of the office structure just as a hail of heavy tactical rounds tore through the mahogany desk, shredding the leather chairs and the expensive paintings into millions of tiny pieces.
Victor let out a terrified shriek as a stray bullet grazed his shoulder, sending his silver revolver flying into the dark abyss outside the window. He scrambled on his belly toward the safe room hidden behind the bookcase, escaping into the shadows of the secondary tier.
The tactical operators advanced through the smoke in a tight, mechanical formation, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting through the gloom in sharp lines of white light. The exoskeleton frames hissed with every step, giving them an unnatural, robotic strength.
"We can't fight these guys in an open room, Leo!" Jax shouted over the roaring noise of the automatic gunfire, his hands covering his bandaged ears. "Their armor is too thick for my bullets!"
"Follow me!" Leo called back, pointing toward the narrow maintenance ladder built into the back of the ventilation shaft. "We're going to the roof!"
Leo climbed into the narrow, metallic tube first, his boots gripping the rusted iron rungs with an absolute, practiced discipline. Jax followed closely behind, his massive frame barely fitting into the tight space, groaning as his broken ribs protested the intense exertion.
Above them, the heavy iron roof hatch was secured by a thick padlocked latch. Leo reached into his vest, pulled out a small tactical wire cutter he had taken from the mercenary downstairs, and snipped the locking mechanism with a single, powerful squeeze.
He hoisted the heavy iron door open, stepping out into the full force of the midnight thunderstorm. The freezing rain hit his face like a curtain of silver needles, washing away the sweat and plaster dust from his skin.
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They were on the roof of Iron Gate Penitentiary. Seventy feet below them, the main prison yard was a sea of fire, smoke, and screaming inmates clashing with tactical riot squads. But as Leo turned toward the central helipad, his eyes went wide in surprise.
A sleek, black military helicopter was already idling on the deck, its massive rotors turning the heavy rain into a blinding mist. Standing by the open cabin door, holding a high-caliber sniper rifle directly aimed at Leo’s chest, was Director Vance herself.
