Chapter 65
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The eastern ridge of the Whitmore estate was heavily wooded and typically covered in three feet of snow, making it a treacherous, nearly impossible route for an infiltration. But Elias Thorne’s extraction team was comprised of elite, heavily armed mercenaries who specialized in impossible tasks.
Noah stood in the center of the subterranean medical corridor, entirely unarmed, projecting an aura of absolute, immovable authority. Marcus and five heavily armed security guards formed a defensive perimeter at the end of the hallway, their weapons trained on the heavy steel doors leading to the service tunnels.
"They breached the outer courtyard," Marcus reported, listening intently to the tactical chatter on his earpiece. "Six hostiles. Tactical gear, night vision, suppressed weapons. They are moving with military precision directly toward this wing. They know Julian is here."
"Hold the line, Marcus," Noah commanded softly, not taking his eyes off the steel doors. "They do not cross this threshold."
Inside the hospital room behind Noah, Dr. Evans stood over Julian's bed, her own hand resting on a heavy emergency panic button that would drop a secondary titanium blast door over the room. Julian was sitting up, trembling violently, his hands covering his ears as if trying to block out the inevitable violence.
"Don't let them take me," Julian sobbed, the trauma completely overriding his bravery.
"They aren't taking anyone," Noah called out to the boy without turning around. "You are a Whitmore ward now. We do not lose."
Suddenly, a massive, concussive blast rocked the corridor. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling as the heavy steel doors at the end of the hallway buckled inward.
The mercenaries had used breaching charges.
Smoke poured into the corridor, obscuring the vision of the security team. Laser sights sliced through the haze, painting red dots across the walls.
"Drop your weapons!" a deep, electronically muffled voice barked from the smoke. "We are only here for the boy. Surrender the asset, and nobody dies."
Noah didn't flinch. He didn't step back. He stood directly in the line of fire, the ultimate shield for the child behind him.
"You are trespassing on sovereign property," Noah’s voice echoed clearly through the smoke, cold and lethal. "You have exactly five seconds to turn around, or my men will put you in the ground."
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"Take them," the mercenary leader commanded.
The corridor erupted into terrifying, deafening violence.
