Chapter 27 - The Labyrinth Beneath Vance Manor
The tunnel beneath *Chateau de Corbeau* was an engineering marvel of paranoia and wealth—carved directly through the granite belly of the Adirondack mountains, lit by flickering yellow industrial bulbs strung along exposed conduits. The air was frigid, smelling of damp earth, diesel exhaust, and raw ozone.
Ryan and Emily sprinted side by side along the narrow rail tracks laid into the concrete floor. The echo of a motorized handcar could be heard rattling far ahead in the darkness, growing fainter by the second.
“How far does this lead?” Emily shouted over the wind rushing through the subterranean cavern.
“Half a mile,” Ryan answered, his lungs burning with exertion. “It exits on a cliff ledge overlooking Lake Champlain. If she gets that helicopter off the ground, we lose her forever. The border to Canadian airspace is less than twelve minutes away!”
Up ahead, a red emergency bulkhead door began slowly descending, screeching against its rusted steel runners. Genevieve had triggered the lockdown override from the tram’s control console.
“Ryan! The door is closing!” Emily warned.
The steel door was three feet from the ground and dropping fast.
Ryan pushed his legs past their breaking point, grabbing Emily’s waist and sliding feet-first across the slick concrete floor just as the five-ton steel slab slammed into the granite bedrock behind them with an earth-shattering *THUD*.
They were trapped on the other side. There was no going back.
Fifty yards ahead, the tunnel opened into a wide natural cavern that looked out into the vast, ink-black night sky. Parked on a reinforced steel platform jutting out over a five-hundred-foot vertical drop was a sleek, matte-black Eurocopter EC130.
The helicopter’s twin turbines were already whining, its composite rotor blades beginning to spin, creating a deafening vortex of freezing wind that whipped across the platform.
Inside the cockpit, Genevieve sat in the co-pilot’s seat, strapping the velvet bassinet securely into the rear passenger compartment. She looked out through the glass bubble of the canopy and saw Ryan and Emily bursting from the tunnel.
Instead of panicking, a vicious, mocking smile touched Genevieve’s lips. She tapped the pilot’s shoulder and pointed outside.
The pilot—a heavily built Eastern European mercenary—drew an MP5 submachine gun from behind his seat, slid open the side cockpit window, and opened fire.
A hail of 9mm rounds sparked against the granite walls of the cavern, sending stone chips flying like shrapnel.
Ryan tackled Emily behind an industrial fuel storage tank. “Stay down!”
“We can't shoot at the cabin!” Emily screamed over the roar of the rotor blades, clutching Ryan’s arm. “Grace is in there!”
“I know!” Ryan shouted back, peering around the curved steel of the fuel tank. The helicopter’s skids were already lightening, the landing gear lifting two inches off the steel platform as the engine reached maximum lift.
Ryan looked at the platform. Running from the cavern wall to the helicopter’s landing pad was a heavy, braided steel refueling line, still connected to the auxiliary tank in the helicopter’s belly. Genevieve’s mercenary pilot had initiated the takeoff sequence without waiting for the ground disconnect.
Ryan turned to Emily. “Emily, give me your gun.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Trust me!”
Emily handed him the second pistol without a second’s hesitation.
Ryan didn't run toward the helicopter. He bolted toward the heavy industrial winch that anchored the fuel line to the cliff wall.
The pilot saw Ryan moving and pivoted the helicopter’s nose toward him, intending to sweep him off the platform with the tail rotor. Genevieve leaned forward, shouting an order to the pilot to lift off immediately.
Ryan dropped to one knee, raising both weapons. He didn't fire at the cockpit. He didn't fire at the blades.
He emptied both magazines directly into the heavy brass release valve of the fuel line anchored to the rock.
The brass fitting shattered under the concentrated barrage of lead. But the high-tensile steel cable braided inside the hose held fast, snapping tight like a bowstring as the five-ton helicopter lunged forward into the open abyss.
With an ear-splitting screech of tearing metal, the taut cable yanked the helicopter’s tail violently backward. The sudden, violent tug threw the aircraft into an uncontrollable yaw, its skids slamming back down onto the edge of the steel platform, tilting at a terrifying forty-five-degree angle directly over the five-hundred-foot drop.
The tail rotor clipped the granite cavern wall, disintegrating in a shower of sparks and severed carbon fiber. The main engine choked on metal debris, whining down into a dying, smoking shudder.
Silence descended over the cliff, broken only by the whistling mountain wind and the sudden, unmistakable sound of an infant crying from inside the tilted cabin.
“Grace!” Emily cried, surging forward across the platform.
Before Ryan could follow, the side door of the helicopter kicked open. Genevieve tumbled out onto the wet steel grating, her pristine hair wild, blood dripping from a cut across her forehead.
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In her right hand, she held the ivory satin handle of the bassinet, dangling it dangerously over the edge of the five-hundred-foot abyss.
***
