Chapter 5 - The Blackout Grid
The overhead lights in our hotel room flickered once, twice, and then died completely, plunging us into absolute darkness save for the neon amber glow of the streetlights bleeding through the rain-streaked window.
In the sudden stillness, the distant wail of hospital sirens began to rise from across the city harbor, multiplying into a chaotic chorus of emergency response.
“Dileia—grab the manifest,” I ordered, lunging backward into the dark just as the sound of a silenced pneumatic hiss cut through the air, followed by a heavy thud as a steel dart embedded itself deep into the wooden doorframe right where my head had been a second earlier.
“Alden!” she gasped, her hands groping across the desk.
“Don't use your flashlight!” I shouted, rolling behind the bed frame as a second dart shattered the glass vase on the nightstand.
I didn't hesitate. I whipped the heavy steel stethoscope off the desk, using its weighted binaural tubes like a garrote as I lunged low toward the doorway where the silhouette of the man in the grey suit stood outlined against the faint emergency lights of the corridor.
I caught him behind the knee, sweeping his legs out from under him with a violent twist. He hit the carpet with a heavy grunt, dropping the tablet. Before he could draw his weapon, I brought the heavy brass chest piece of the scope down hard across his right wrist, hearing bone snap beneath the metal.
He cried out, writhing on the floor, but I didn't stop. I grabbed Dileia’s hand, pulling her out into the dark, chaotic hallway.
“Vance!” she cried out, pointing to the floor where the retired NTSB investigator lay. I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing two fingers to his carotid. There was still a faint, thready pulse, but he was losing blood fast.
“We can’t stay here,” I yelled over the wailing sirens outside. “The entire hospital grid is down, and they’re coming for Pendelton.”
Dileia looked down at Vance, then up at me, her eyes burning with a terrifying, crystallized resolve that had completely replaced the shock of an hour ago. She bent down, retrieving the fallen tablet from the floor where the corporate operative had dropped it. The screen was still glowing, displaying a live satellite map of Charleston with two blinking red markers: one at the hospital ICU, and one at the private airstrip across the river.
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“They aren't just trying to kill Pendelton,” Dileia said, her voice dead steady as she held up the glowing screen. “Leo isn't at an apartment. Look at the coordinates on this manifest. My brother is being held at the private hangar where Flight 412 took off.”
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors at the end of the hotel corridor burst open, and three men in tactical gear swarmed into the hallway, flashlights cutting blinding white beams through the smoke and rain.
