Chapter 51
-
New Geneva
The massive door tilted inward and crashed to the concrete floor with a sound like thunder. The impact sent vibrations through New Geneva’s superstructure. Metal fragments scattered across the floor, some pieces still glowing red-hot from the explosive force.
“So much for stealth,” Drake muttered without humor while checking his weapon.
Alarms that had been distant background noise suddenly became urgent. Security teams would converge on their location within minutes.
They hurried to the helicopter pad access. Industrial metal stairs led up to level eight, the platform’s roof. Service area with fuel lines, equipment storage, emergency gear. No windows, but heavy exterior doors leading to the landing pad.
Through the reinforced glass in the exit door, Flint saw landing lights marking the helicopter pad boundaries.
A circle of lights on New Geneva’s north side. Empty now, but Restrepo would be monitoring the radio frequency. He’d arrive shortly.
“There.” Frankie pointed. “Once you’re on the pad, you’re completely exposed until your pilot arrives.”
Footsteps thundered up the stairwell behind them. Cole’s security.
“Go.” Frankie turned back toward the stairs. “I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”
“Frankie.” Lizzy grabbed his arm, tears streaming down her face. “Come with us.”
He looked at her with the same expression Flint had seen in Havana. A man who’d made peace with his choices.
“I’ve got unfinished business with Cole,” he told her gently, giving her a sweet kiss. “I’ll see you back at home in a few days.”
A moment later, the first security guard appeared at the broken doorway. He raised his weapon.
Frankie’s shots caught him in the chest, spinning him backward into the stairwell. Blood splattered against the concrete wall. Frankie dove behind a concrete pillar as return fire chipped fragments around his position.
More gunfire erupted from the stairwell.
Flint keyed his radio. “Restrepo, we need immediate pickup. Level eight, north pad.”
“Copy. Sixty seconds out.”
Might as well be an hour. Frankie was holding the stairwell, but more security teams were coming from other access points.
Flint pushed Jason and Lizzy forward while Drake provided covering fire.
They reached the exterior door and shoved it open. Cold Pacific wind hit them like a wall, carrying the salt spray and the deep rumble of the ocean far below.
The helicopter pad stretched ahead. A circle of harsh white landing lights turned the night into artificial day. Navigation lights stretched in every direction, marking the edges of Cole’s floating empire. From this height, New Geneva felt like a city built on the edge of the world.
Rotor noise approached from the east. Restrepo’s helicopter materialized out of the darkness. Navigation lights strobed in the night sky.
Gunfire erupted once more from the access door behind them.
Drake returned fire, grimacing as each shot sent pain through his wounded shoulder. But his aim stayed true.
The helicopter touched down with a thud that Flint felt through his boots.
Rotor wash hit them like a hurricane, whipping debris and salt spray across the landing pad.
The downdraft was so powerful it forced them to lean into the wind just to stay upright.
The cabin door slid open, revealing the red-lit interior.
Flint rushed Jason and Lizzy toward the aircraft. Drake followed behind them, his shoulder bleeding again but functional.
While they hustled to the helo, Frankie took position at the access door, using the doorframe for cover. Automatic weapons fire erupted from the stairwell below. Cole’s security teams were advancing up multiple levels. Frankie returned fire, forcing them back down the stairs.
More gunmen appeared from another stairwell. They had Frankie in the crossfire.
Muzzle flashes erupted from several directions. Frankie spun as a round tore through his shoulder, throwing him against the doorframe. Blood spread across his shirt, but he stayed on his feet.
He raised his weapon with his good arm and fired methodically at both stairwells, forcing Cole’s people to take cover.
“Go!” he shouted over the gunfire.
Each shot must have sent agony through his wounded shoulder, but he kept firing. Buying seconds. Buying time for Lizzy to escape.
Muzzle flashes came from positions around the pad. Cole’s security surrounded them.
Frankie fired at the nearest shooter. Then another. Drawing their attention away from Lizzy’s escape.
A bullet hit him in the chest. He staggered but didn’t fall.
Flint shoved Jason and Lizzy toward the helo. “Go! Get in!”
They ran across the landing pad, bent double against the rotor wash that threatened to knock them sideways.
Jason’s suit jacket flapped wildly in the artificial hurricane.
He reached the helicopter first and hauled himself up, then turned to help Lizzy.
Her hair whipped around her face as she climbed into the cabin while Jason’s hands steadied her against the buffeting wind.
Drake followed, his wounded shoulder screaming with each jarring step across the concrete. He dove through the cabin door as more gunfire erupted from the access door.
Flint was the last one aboard, throwing himself in as bullets sparked off the landing pad around them.
More shots came and Frankie went down. This time he didn’t get up.
“Frankie!” Lizzy’s scream cut through the rotor noise. She unbuckled and jumped toward the open helicopter door.
Flint blocked her and shoved her back into her seat.
Restrepo lifted off immediately, banking hard toward the east.
Below them, New Geneva lit up the sky with spotlights and muzzle flashes. Cole’s fortress blazed with activity as security teams searched for threats that were already gone.
But Lizzy stared out where Frankie Tantanella’s body lay motionless on the concrete.
Twenty-four years of loyalty to Devon Cole ended in thirty seconds of gunfire.
He’d died protecting the woman he’d loved since she was a sixteen-year-old girl. The life with Lizzy Pace that began when he led her away from a burning house in Kentucky all those years ago was finished.
Lizzy pressed her face against the helicopter’s window, watching New Geneva disappear as they flew into the Pacific darkness.
“He saved us again,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Flint checked his watch. Three hours to California. Cole would be making calls, spinning the story attempting to contain the damage.
But it was too late. Jason Fisher was alive. Lizzy Pace was alive.
Flint had all the evidence he needed.