Chapter 4 - The Fortress on Blackwood Ridge
Declan Vance didn't flinch. He stood up, unclipped his radio, and keyed the mic. "Sound the silent alarm. Lock the estate into Phase Three. Put non-lethal suppressors on the front gate. I want live prisoners."
"Understood, sir," the radio answered.
Within seconds, the subtle hum of hydraulics vibrated through the walls. Heavy steel storm shutters descended over the high arched windows, sealing the third-floor suite into an impenetrable vault. The warm fire flickered against reinforced tungsten plates.
Bee sat up abruptly, rubbing her eyes, her voice laced with panic. "Sarah? What's that noise? What's happening?"
"Stay with your sister," Vance told Sarah, checking the magazine of his sidearm before sliding it back into the holster. "This room is reinforced with ballistic steel. Even if they breach the grounds, they cannot cut through this door without heavy thermite."
"Crane followed us here?" Sarah asked, pulling Bee against her side. "How? You said the vehicle was shielded!"
"They didn't track the SUV," Vance replied grimly, pulling a small silver tracker from his pocket and throwing it onto the table. "They tracked Jonah's school ring on Bee’s keychain."
Bee gasped, her hands flying to her jacket pocket. "The ring... Jonah gave it to me two weeks ago for my birthday! He said it was for good luck!"
"It had a micro-transponder soldered into the hollow band," Vance said without anger. "Jonah didn't want to lose track of you if he had to run. Unfortunately, Crane’s tech team swept Jonah's apartment this afternoon and found the pairing frequencies. They knew where you were thirty minutes after you crossed the ridge."
Vance walked to the door and keyed his biometric scanner. "Lock this behind me. Do not open it for anyone except my voice."
"Declan, wait!" Sarah called out.
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
"Be careful," she whispered.
A faint, almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of Vance’s mouth. "It's my mountain, Sarah. They’re the ones who should be careful."
The door sealed shut behind him.
Through the heavy stone floors, Sarah could feel the dull, muted thud of gunfire erupting along the lower driveway. The siege of Blackwood Ridge had begun.
Downstairs, Declan Vance walked into the expansive marble foyer where eight of his private security operatives stood behind tactical barricades, their weapons aimed at the reinforced double oak doors.
The heavy glass panes above the entryway shattered in a shower of crystal as flashbang grenades rained into the hall. Vance stepped behind a granite pillar, covering his eyes as white phosphorus bloomed across the floor.
The oak doors buckled under a hydraulic ram.
Six armed men in tactical gear poured through the breach, their automatic rifles barking into the smoke. But Vance's men were disciplined veterans. Crossfire erupted from the mezzanine. Three intruders collapsed instantly, their weapons clattering across the marble.
Vance stepped out from behind the pillar. He fired with surgical precision—three double-taps, three targets neutralized before they could clear their barrels.
The lead infiltrator scrambled backward across the broken glass, clutching a shattered shoulder. Vance closed the distance, planted his heavy boot directly onto the man's chest, and pointed his weapon between the mercenary's eyes.
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"Who sent you?" Vance asked, his voice dead calm.
The man spat blood onto the white stone. "Crane... Crane says he wants the girl. He says... he has Jonah in a warehouse on Pier 9. If you don't bring the sister by dawn... Jonah dies in pieces."
