Chapter 38 - Avalanche
The infiltration was a masterpiece of lethal precision. They moved in perfect sync, a deadly dance they had learned in the blood and fire of the Vance estate.
Martha set up on a high snowy outcropping overlooking the helipad, her suppressed sniper rifle resting on a bipod. Maxwell approached the rear utility entrance, his white camouflage blending perfectly into the blizzard.
"Sniper in position," Martha's voice crackled through the earpiece. "You have two hostiles approaching your sector. Wait... wait... mark."
A muted thwip echoed through the valley, followed immediately by another. The two guards at the rear door slumped into the snow, perfectly synchronized holes in their visors.
"Clear," Martha whispered.
Maxwell breached the heavy steel door, stepping out of the freezing storm and into the warm, dimly lit corridors of the chalet. He moved like a shadow, taking down three more guards with silent, brutal efficiency in the narrow concrete hallways. He didn't use his gun; he used a combat knife, keeping the noise to an absolute minimum. He was a man possessed, driven by the need to protect the woman outside in the snow.
He reached the central atrium, a massive glass-walled room overlooking the abyss of the mountain. And there, standing by the fireplace, frantically packing a titanium briefcase, was Julian Croft.
Maxwell stepped into the room, raising his pistol. "Hello, Julian."
Croft froze, his eyes widening in genuine terror. The polished aristocrat was gone, replaced by a cornered rat.
Before Maxwell could pull the trigger, the glass ceiling above them shattered.
Two heavily armed mercenaries repelled down from the roof, laying down a blanket of automatic fire. Maxwell dove behind a heavy stone pillar as bullets chewed the concrete to dust around him.
"Max! An extraction chopper just crested the ridge!" Martha yelled over the comms. "They're dropping a tactical team!"
"Keep them off the roof!" Maxwell yelled back, popping out from cover to return fire. He dropped one of the mercenaries, but the other pinned him down with a heavy machine gun.
Croft grabbed his briefcase and sprinted toward the armored elevator that led to the roof helipad.
"I'm pinned!" Maxwell shouted, fragments of stone grazing his cheek.
Outside, Martha adjusted her scope, ignoring the massive black helicopter hovering dangerously close to the chalet. She aimed not at the men on the roof, but at the massive, unstable snow cornice hanging directly above the chalet's helipad.
She took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.
The heavy caliber round struck the weak point of the glacier with the force of a bomb. For a second, nothing happened. And then, the mountain roared.
A massive slab of ice and snow detached from the peak, cascading downward in a terrifying, apocalyptic white wave. The avalanche hit the roof of the chalet with deafening force, sweeping the extraction helicopter out of the sky like a broken toy and burying the helipad beneath fifty feet of packed snow.
Inside the atrium, the shockwave knocked Maxwell and the remaining mercenary off their feet. The elevator doors jammed, trapping Croft inside the atrium.
The room fell dead silent, save for the groaning of the strained concrete.
Maxwell stood up slowly, aiming his weapon at the lone, terrified mercenary. "Drop it."
May you like
The man looked at the jammed elevator, looked at Maxwell, and slowly lowered his weapon, dropping to his knees with his hands raised.
Maxwell turned his attention to Julian Croft, who was desperately clawing at the jammed elevator doors.
