Chapter 29 - The Wrath of the One-Eighty-Seven
*"Not on my watch, Captain!"*
The radio exploded with Master Sergeant Marcus Vance’s voice.
From the stormy heavens, the MH-60 Black Hawk descended like an avenging titan. The pilot executed a suicidal combat flare, positioning the massive transport helicopter directly between the hostile Little Bird and the wounded Montgomery siblings on the roof.
The Black Hawk’s minigun unleashed pure, unadulterated hell.
A hail of armor-piercing incendiary rounds tore through the Little Bird’s cockpit canopy. The enemy pilot slumped forward over the cyclic; the tail rotor shattered into metal confetti. The hostile gunship spun violently out of control, trailing a spiral of black smoke and fire, before plummeting off the edge of the Cumberland ridge and detonating against the mountainside in a colossal fireball that lit up the night.
The Black Hawk touched down hard on the shattered helipad, its wheels screeching against the rubble. Marcus Vance and two combat medics leaped out into the storm, dragging a trauma litter across the roof.
"Get him on the board! Move, move, move!" Vance roared, taking over chest compressions as the medics pumped tranexamic acid directly into Ethan’s veins.
Claire helped lift her brother’s limp body onto the stretcher. His eyes were half-open, gazing up at her through the haze of encroaching death.
"The... the safe..." Ethan choked out, his bloody fingers curling tightly around Claire’s wrist, gripping with the last ounce of his fading strength. "Manhattan... penthouse... sixty-fourth floor... Vance’s names... are all there... Finish it, Little Bird."
"I will," Claire vowed, tears finally spilling over her cheeks, mixing with the rain and her brother's blood. "I swear to you on Dad’s grave, Ethan, I will burn them all to the ground."
Ethan’s grip went slack. His head rolled to the side.
"We’ve got a thready pulse! He’s going into cardiac arrest! Lift! LIFT!" the medics screamed, hauling the litter into the helicopter’s cabin.
Claire turned toward Margaret, who was standing frozen in the middle of the smoking ruins, covered in ash, staring blankly at the blood smeared across the concrete where her son had just bled out.
Claire stepped forward, grabbed Margaret by the neck of her orange jumpsuit, and hauled her violently toward the helicopter door.
"Get in," Claire said, her voice dropping into a register so dark and cold that Margaret couldn't even weep.
"Where... where are you taking me?" Margaret stammered, her voice hollow, completely broken.
May you like
Claire climbed into the cabin, racking the bolt of an M4 rifle with a sharp, lethal metallic snap.
"To New York," Claire said, staring straight ahead as the Black Hawk lifted off into the tempest. "You're going to open that safe for me, Mother. And if you hesitate for even one second... I will throw you out of this aircraft at ten thousand feet."
