Chapter 9 - The Phoenix Protocol
Instead of pulling the trigger, I slammed my thumb down onto the biometric override switch and threw the heavy metal case straight up into the air toward the landing.
"Fall back!" I roared, shoving Thomas off balance as the case cleared the stairwell.
David’s gun barked twice, the rounds punching clean through the polymer shell of the case just as it reached the apex of its arc. That bullet impact was the exact mechanical trigger the internal micro-charge needed.
BOOM.
The detonation wasn't massive, but it was violently localized. A flash of blinding white magnesium fire and a concussive shockwave ripped through the stairwell, blowing David Vance backward off his feet and sending a cascade of burning shrapnel across the second-floor landing.
The operatives behind Thomas flinched at the blast, their aim wavering for a crucial half-second. It was all the opening we needed.
I whipped out my combat knife, burying it into the shoulder of the nearest operative, while Thomas spun around and drove the butt of his carbine into the second man's helmet, dropping both of them to the concrete in a heap of tangled limbs and groans.
"Up! Get up!" I yelled, grabbing Thomas by the vest as smoke billowed up the stairs, choking out the room.
Through the haze of white smoke and shattered glass, David Vance staggered back to his feet. His tactical turtleneck was scorched, blood trickling down his forehead from a shrapnel gash, but his eyes were burning with pure, unadulterated fury. He drew a secondary backup pistol from his thigh holster, screaming obscenities as he fired blindly into the smoke.
"You're not taking me alive, Carter!" David roared, emptying his magazine into the void.
"We're not here to take you, David!" I shouted back, grabbing an assault rifle dropped by one of the downed operatives and firing a controlled burst into the structural support cables of the heavy microwave transmitter hanging above the landing.
The rusted steel cables snapped with a deafening twang. The massive fifty-pound broadcast unit crashed down directly onto the stairs, pinning David Vance beneath heavy iron framing and cutting off his encrypted transmission to the Pentagon mid-stream.
"Let's move! The whole block is about to swarm!" Thomas yelled, pulling me toward the rear emergency exit.
We burst through the back doors into the torrential downpour just as a convoy of three black Department of Defense tactical vans screeched into the rear alleyway, their high-beams cutting through the rain.
Before we could find cover, the lead van's side door slid open, and a familiar, imposing figure stepped out into the rain holding a secure military tablet. It wasn't an assassin. It was General Marcus Thorne, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff himself, flanked by six armed military police.
Thorne raised his hand, signaling his men to hold their fire, and stared directly at me through the sheets of rain.
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"Stand down, Master Chief," Thorne commanded, his voice carrying an unmistakable authority that cut through the storm. "The broadcast was just intercepted. You're no longer listed as a rogue asset... but you just walked right into an international tribunal."
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