Chapter 9 - The Rotor and The Ruin.
The deafening roar of the helicopter blades vibrated through the narrow concrete stairwell.
Thomas sprinted up the final flight of steps, entirely ignoring the burning agony in his fractured ribs.
He reached the heavy steel door that led out to the rooftop helipad.
He threw his shoulder against the metal, but it refused to yield.
A thick, industrial magnetic lock held the heavy door firmly in place.
Through the small reinforced glass window, Thomas could see the nightmare unfolding outside.
A torrential storm was whipping fiercely across the flat rooftop.
A sleek, black AgustaWestland helicopter sat perfectly in the center of the illuminated landing pad.
Its massive rotors spun rapidly, slicing through the heavy, freezing rain.
Marcus Sterling stood near the open side door of the aircraft.
He was wearing a heavy black trench coat, completely unfazed by the severe weather.
He was violently dragging Thomas's weeping daughter by her small, fragile arm.
A massive bodyguard in tactical gear was carrying Thomas's son over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
The young boy was kicking and screaming furiously, but his small strikes did absolutely nothing against the armor.
Thomas raised his stolen pistol and aimed it directly at the magnetic lock.
He fired three rapid, deafening shots into the electronic housing.
Sparks showered the dimly lit stairwell as the locking mechanism shattered.
The heavy steel door swung violently open, sucked outward by the immense downdraft of the spinning rotors.
Thomas stepped out into the freezing, chaotic storm.
The howling wind whipped his wet hair across his bruised and bloody face.
"Marcus!"
Thomas roared from the depths of his chest, his voice barely cutting through the mechanical scream of the engine.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks and turned, shielding his eyes from the driving rain.
When the old man saw Thomas standing there, his arrogant, triumphant smirk instantly vanished.
"Kill him!"
Marcus screamed to his guards, pointing a wrinkled, shaking finger directly at Thomas.
"Do not let him anywhere near this aircraft!"
Two armed mercenaries immediately stepped out from behind the tail of the helicopter.
They raised their automatic rifles, their green laser sights cutting sharp lines through the heavy rain.
Thomas dove sideways just as a deadly hail of bullets shattered the concrete where he had been standing.
He rolled hard across the wet roof, biting his lip to suppress a scream of pain from his ribs.
He threw himself behind a massive, humming industrial air conditioning unit.
Bullets pinged relentlessly against the metal machinery, sending lethal shards of shrapnel flying into the air.
Thomas peeked around the edge of the metal unit, quickly calculating his impossible odds.
He only had seven bullets left in his stolen sidearm.
"Daddy!"
His daughter's terrified, piercing scream cut straight through the chaos and the gunfire.
Thomas looked toward the landing pad with wide, panicked eyes.
Marcus was physically throwing the little girl into the back leather seat of the chopper.
The bodyguard tossed his son in right beside her and slammed the heavy door shut.
Marcus climbed into the front passenger seat and locked the cabin from the inside.
The pilot gave a quick thumbs-up signal through the cockpit window.
The engine pitch shifted into a high, whining roar, preparing for immediate vertical liftoff.
Thomas's heart stopped completely inside his chest.
He was going to lose them forever.
He wasn't going to let that happen, even if it cost him his own life.
Thomas stepped completely out from behind cover, fully exposing himself to the enemy fire.
He raised his pistol with both hands, steadying his aim despite the freezing rain and his shaking muscles.
He didn't aim at the mercenaries shooting at him.
He aimed directly at the helicopter's spinning tail rotor.
He fired his remaining seven shots in a rapid, highly controlled sequence.
Three bullets missed completely, lost to the howling wind.
But four bullets found their target with absolute, devastating precision.
They smashed directly into the delicate, high-speed mechanics of the rear rotor assembly.
A sickening, metallic crunch echoed across the entire rooftop.
Thick black smoke instantly poured from the tail section of the aircraft.
The helicopter shuddered violently, spinning wildly a few feet in the air before slamming back down onto the concrete pad.
Bright orange sparks flew as the metal landing skids violently scraped against the roof.
The mercenaries stopped shooting, staring in absolute shock at the crippled, smoking machine.
Thomas didn't hesitate for a single, precious second.
He dropped his empty pistol and sprinted toward the armed guards with pure, lethal intent.
He was entirely out of ammunition, but he was far from defenseless.
The first guard swung his rifle around, desperately trying to track Thomas's rapid movement through the rain.
Thomas slid on his knees across the wet concrete, slipping right under the barrel of the heavy gun.
He drove his tactical knife straight upward, plunging the steel blade deep into the guard's exposed thigh.
The man screamed in sheer agony, dropping his weapon to clutch his bleeding leg.
Thomas ripped the automatic rifle from the falling man's hands as he stood up.
He spun around flawlessly and instantly fired a short, controlled burst into the second guard's chest plate.
The kinetic impact threw the second mercenary backward, knocking him out cold against the safety railing.
Thomas stood up straight, breathing heavily, completely drenched in freezing rain and enemy blood.
The rooftop was suddenly terrifyingly silent, except for the sputtering, dying engine of the ruined helicopter.
Thomas walked slowly, deliberately toward the black aircraft.
His eyes were entirely dead, locked onto the tinted window of the passenger door.
He raised the stolen assault rifle and pointed it directly at the reinforced glass.
"Open the door, Marcus."
Thomas commanded, his voice colder and more ruthless than the storm raging around them.
Inside the luxurious cabin, Marcus Sterling stared back through the bulletproof window.
The old man was trapped inside a metal cage of his own making.
But as Thomas looked closer through the rain-streaked glass, a sick, cold feeling twisted violently in his gut.
Marcus wasn't looking at Thomas with the fear of a defeated man.
Marcus was pressing a small, black remote detonator directly against the glass.
A tiny red light blinked ominously on the electronic device.
Thomas looked down at the wet concrete landing pad directly beneath the helicopter.
Four blocks of military-grade C4 explosive were wired directly into the aviation fuel tanks built into the roof.
"You think I don't have contingency plans, Thomas?"
Marcus's voice crackled through the helicopter's external loudspeaker, dripping with pure, venomous spite.
May you like
"If I can't take my bloodline with me, no one gets them."
Thomas froze completely, the heavy rifle suddenly trembling in his hands.
