Chapter 74 - Breach at the Threshold
The second impact was worse than the first.
A deafening explosion echoed through the stone corridor as a linear shaped charge blew the exterior reinforced deadbolts clean off the carriage house doors. The heavy timber doors blasted inward, splintering into a thousand jagged shards of wood and iron that showered across the concrete floor.
"Contact!" Marcus roared, spinning around and raising his carbine toward the smoking entrance.
Through the billowing white smoke and gray dust, three figures materialized out of the night. They weren't wearing tactical uniforms or police gear. They wore sleek, matte-black armored bodysuits completely devoid of insignia, patches, or serial numbers. Their helmets featured integrated thermal-optical visors that glowed with a faint, pulsing crimson light. They moved with an inhuman, synchronized precision, weapons raised, sweeping the room in fractions of a second.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He squeezed the trigger, laying down a disciplined, suppressive burst of 5.56 rounds that sparked blindingly against the composite body armor of the lead operative.
The lead operative didn't even stagger. He absorbed the impact with a mechanical stiffness, leveling a heavy, suppressed tactical weapon and returning fire with terrifying accuracy. A hail of high-velocity rounds chewed through the oak workbench behind us, splintering wood and sending tools flying in all directions.
"Fall back! Get behind the engine blocks!" Leo shouted, grabbing Maya by the collar of her jacket and hauling her bodily behind the heavy, cast-iron chassis of a dismantled vintage tractor engine.
I stayed locked to the terminal, my fingers locked onto the keyboard. The progress bar for the tribunal override sequence was at eighty-four percent.
Come on, I silently urged the system, sweat stinging my eyes as the air in the room filled with the acrid stench of cordite and ozone. Just ten more seconds.
"Claire! Move!" Marcus yelled, diving behind a concrete pillar as a grenade canister clattered across the floor near his boots.
BOOM.
The flash-bang detonated with a blinding, searing magnesium white glare and a concussive shockwave that robbed the room of all sound. My ears rang with a high-pitched, agonizing whine. Vision blurring, I forced my eyes open, refusing to let go of the tablet. The screen flickered violently as the electromagnetic pulse of the flash-bang threatened to wipe the memory buffer.
Eighty-eight percent... ninety-two percent...
One of the black-armored operatives stepped through the smoke, his heavy combat boots crunching over glass and splintered wood. He raised his weapon directly toward my chest, the crimson glow of his visor locking onto my heat signature.
He didn't speak. He raised his finger to the trigger.
"Not today, pal," Leo growled from behind the tractor engine.
A sharp, deafening crack echoed through the carriage house as Leo’s precision rifle barked once. The round caught the operative squarely in the joint of his armored shoulder, spinning him off balance just enough to throw his aim wide. The heavy round from the operative’s rifle slammed harmlessly into the concrete floor a foot away from my boots, sending up a shower of sparks and stone chips.
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Marcus immediately surged out from behind his pillar, closing the distance with terrifying speed, and slammed the heavy butt of his carbine into the operative’s helmet with a sickening crunch of composite plastic. The operative collapsed to his knees, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Ninety-eight percent!" Maya screamed over the ringing in our ears, her eyes glued to my tablet screen. "Aunt Claire, finish it!"
