Chapter 10 - The Frequency and The Fall.
The freezing rain battered Thomas's face.
The tiny red light on Marcus's detonator blinked like a demonic eye.
Thomas slowly lowered the barrel of the stolen assault rifle.
Marcus smiled a sickening, victorious smile through the rain-streaked, reinforced glass.
"Drop the gun, Thomas!"
Marcus's voice echoed loudly over the external loudspeaker, distorted by the howling wind.
"Or we all burn together!"
Thomas knew Marcus Sterling better than anyone.
Marcus was a corporate parasite, a ruthless coward who only cared about absolute self-preservation.
Normally, a man like that would never trigger a suicide bomb.
But Marcus was a cornered rat who had just watched his escape route violently destroyed.
Thomas could not risk calling his bluff.
Not with his children sitting just two feet behind the explosives.
Thomas reached into his wet tactical vest with his left hand.
His cold fingers wrapped around the encrypted tablet he had forcefully taken from David Chen in the basement.
He pulled the device out, shielding the glowing screen from the torrential downpour with his chest.
Marcus frowned behind the thick bulletproof glass, his thumb hovering dangerously over the trigger button.
Thomas woke the tablet and bypassed the lock screen using David's master credentials.
He rapidly accessed the estate's central defense grid.
He navigated straight to the counter-surveillance protocols.
Every billionaire's fortress had a localized, high-powered frequency jammer to drop paparazzi drones out of the sky.
Thomas activated the heavy RF jammer, immediately setting it to maximum output.
A low, vibrating electronic hum suddenly resonated beneath the concrete of the rooftop.
Thomas looked back up at the crippled helicopter.
He locked eyes with his corrupt father-in-law.
Thomas didn't yell over the roaring wind.
He simply stared at Marcus and mouthed two clear words.
Press it.
Marcus's eyes widened in a sudden, furious panic.
He slammed his thumb down hard onto the detonator button.
Nothing happened.
The blocks of C4 wired to the fuel tanks remained completely inert.
The heavy frequency jammer had instantly severed the wireless connection.
Marcus pressed the button again, and again, screaming in visible, soundless rage behind the glass.
Thomas dropped the tablet onto the wet concrete.
He raised the assault rifle back to his shoulder.
He didn't aim at the bulletproof window.
He aimed directly at the heavy steel hinges of the passenger door.
Thomas pulled the trigger, unleashing a relentless, deafening stream of automatic fire.
The armor-piercing rounds shredded the heavy metal hinges into jagged, smoking splinters.
The rifle clicked empty.
Thomas threw the useless weapon aside.
He marched relentlessly toward the ruined aircraft, entirely oblivious to the storm and his broken ribs.
He grabbed the scorching hot metal handle of the passenger door.
With a primal, agonizing roar, he ripped the heavy door completely off the fuselage.
He threw the massive piece of metal backward onto the flooded landing pad.
Marcus scrambled backward over the center console, his face pale with absolute terror.
Thomas lunged into the luxurious cabin.
He grabbed the old man by the collar of his expensive trench coat.
He dragged Marcus out into the freezing, violent storm.
Thomas threw him violently onto the hard concrete.
Marcus gagged, spitting up a mixture of rainwater and blood.
Thomas didn't waste another second on the broken billionaire.
He turned his back and reached into the rear seats of the helicopter.
His son and daughter were huddled tightly together, crying hysterically in the dark.
"It's okay."
Thomas whispered, his harsh voice finally breaking with overwhelming emotion.
"Daddy's here."
He unbuckled their heavy flight harnesses.
He pulled both of his children out of the cabin and held them fiercely against his chest.
He closed his eyes, burying his face in their wet hair as the storm washed over them.
For three beautiful seconds, he had won.
But the nightmare was far from over.
A harsh, metallic click echoed sharply over the sound of the howling wind.
Thomas slowly turned his head toward the roof access stairwell.
Grandma was standing in the open doorway.
Her pearls were crooked, and her expensive dress was soaked with rain.
May you like
She was gripping a heavy silver revolver with both hands.
And the barrel was pointed directly at Thomas's back.
