Chapter 18 - The Vanguard Commander
Five miles south, the raging river continued its violent path through the gorge.
A sleek, heavily modified Blackhawk helicopter, painted in absolute matte black with no identifying numbers, hovered dangerously low over the rapids. The wash from the rotor blades whipped the water into a frenzied mist.
A rope dropped from the side door. A man repelled down, his boots touching the muddy riverbank with absolute grace.
He was not dressed in tactical gear like his operatives. He wore a perfectly tailored, dark wool trench coat that repelled the rain, and fine leather gloves. His face was sharp, aristocratic, and completely devoid of emotion.
This was Silas, a high-ranking commander of The Vanguard, and the architect of Project Genesis.
Two armed operatives splashed into the water, retrieving the heavy cedar log that had washed up against a cluster of boulders. They hauled it onto the bank, using an axe to split the wood open.
One of the operatives reached in with tweezers and pulled out the tiny, bloody microchip. He handed it to Silas.
Silas held the micro-dermal tracker between his gloved fingers. The tiny red LED light was still blinking, a mocking signal of his failure to secure the asset.
He didn't yell. He didn't execute his men in a fit of rage. He simply stared at the blood on the chip, a slow, terrifying smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"Impressive," Silas murmured, his voice smooth and cultured, carrying easily over the roar of the helicopter. "Arthur Blackwood raised a rather resourceful son. He cut it out of her neck in the middle of a storm."
"Commander," the lead operative stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "We lost their thermal signature when they went underground. The decoy cost us forty-five minutes. They could be anywhere in the mountain range by now."
"No, they couldn't," Silas replied calmly, dropping the chip into the mud and crushing it beneath his expensive leather boot. "Daniel Blackwood is a tactician. He knows he cannot outrun us on foot with a heavily pregnant, injured woman. He wouldn't run blindly. He would run toward an extraction point."
Silas pulled a slim, encrypted tablet from his coat pocket. He pulled up the satellite imagery of the mountain range, his eyes scanning the topography.
"There," Silas tapped the screen, pointing to a gray scar in the middle of the green forest. "The old logging airfield. It's the only flat expanse of land within a ten-mile radius capable of supporting a vehicle convoy or a fixed-wing extraction."
"Shall we call in an airstrike, sir?" the operative asked.
"No," Silas said sharply, his eyes flashing with a dangerous obsession. "The contract requires the matrix and the unborn child to be completely intact. Explosives are too risky. We take them alive."
Silas turned and walked back toward the hovering Blackhawk. He grabbed the extraction rope.
"Contact the assault teams," Silas ordered as he was hoisted up into the cabin. "Tell them to converge on the airfield. Total ground assault. Kill the mercenaries, incapacitate Daniel Blackwood, and secure the asset."
"And if she resists, sir?"
Silas looked down at the dark, roaring river below him as the helicopter banked aggressively toward the north.
May you like
"If she resists, break her legs," Silas said coldly. "As long as the womb is intact, the rest of her is expendable. The Genesis protocol will be fulfilled tonight."
The Blackhawk surged forward, leading a formation of three heavily armed transport choppers through the storm clouds, heading straight into the teeth of Daniel's trap.
