Chapter 16: The Chopper on the Ridge
The rhythmic thrum of heavy rotor blades beat against the concrete walls of the drainage outlet, vibrating through the damp air with a physical force that made my chest hum.
"Get down!" Alejandro yelled, instinctively pulling me behind a thick concrete pillar as a blinding beam of white searchlight cut down through the surface grate, sweeping back and forth across the stagnant water.
Agent Vance drew his service weapon once more, squinting upward into the blinding glare.
"That’s not local PD and it’s not federal backup," Vance shouted over the deafening roar of the engine.
"That's a military-grade stealth transport!"
A heavy metal rope ladder dropped suddenly through the open access hatch above, slapping against the concrete floor just ten feet away from where Marcus was still cuffed to the iron grate.
Before anyone could move, a figure in a matte-black tactical flight suit descended the ladder with lightning speed, hitting the ground with a heavy, professional thud.
The operative didn't look at us.
He didn't look at Agent Vance's raised pistol.
He walked straight toward Marcus, drew a tactical knife, and with one swift, surgical slash, cut through the steel handcuff chain.
"Hey! Federal agent! Drop the weapon!" Vance roared, taking a step forward and aiming his service weapon square at the operative’s back.
The operative slowly turned his head, wearing a smooth, expressionless tactical helmet with a mirrored visor.
He raised his left wrist, tapping a small control pad on his sleeve.
Click.
A localized electromagnetic pulse emitted from his gauntlet with a sharp, high-pitched whine.
Agent Vance’s service weapon instantly sparked, the internal digital targeting components frying themselves in a fraction of a second as the pistol went dead in his hand.
"What the—" Vance cursed, dropping the smoking weapon as it scorched his palm.
Alejandro didn't hesitate.
He lunged forward with military precision, aiming a devastating roundhouse punch straight at the operative's helmet.
The operative caught Alejandro’s fist mid-air with casual, effortless ease, twisting his wrist with bone-crunching leverage and sending Alejandro crashing hard against the concrete wall.
"Alejandro!" I screamed, rushing forward to help him up.
"Stay back, Elena!" Alejandro grunted, clutching his bruised wrist as he staggered to his feet, his eyes locked onto the masked operative.
The operative turned back to Marcus, who was rubbing his freed, bruised wrists with a ragged, breathless laugh.
"I told you," Marcus wheezed, casting a triumphant glance toward us.
"The Patrons don't abandon their investments. Not ever."
The operative grabbed Marcus by the shoulder, hauling him toward the hanging rope ladder with brutal efficiency.
"Wait!" I yelled, stepping out from behind the pillar, my hands cradling my swollen belly as a fierce, unyielding anger surged through my veins.
"Tell Madame Ruiz... tell whoever is pulling the strings from the shadows... that we aren't hiding anymore!"
The operative paused at the base of the ladder.
He slowly tilted his head upward, looking at me through the reflective mirrored visor.
For a terrifying second, the roar of the helicopter seemed to fade into absolute silence.
Then, a synthesized, distorted voice echoed from the operative's helmet speaker:
"Madame Ruiz sends her regards, Mrs. Ruiz. But the board isn't run by her anymore."
Before anyone could process the words, the operative grabbed the rungs of the ladder, hauling Marcus upward as the heavy transport helicopter surged vertically into the night sky, vanishing into the fog just as fast as it had appeared.
The rushing water in the drainage tunnel slowly settled back into a steady, quiet murmur.
Agent Vance stared up at the empty hatch, his face pale and slick with sweat.
"Did you... did you hear what he said?" Vance whispered, turning to look at Alejandro.
"The board isn't run by Madame Ruiz anymore."
Alejandro slowly walked over to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.
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"If it’s not Madame Ruiz..." Alejandro muttered, his eyes dark with a chilling realization.
"Then who the hell is running the syndicate?"
