Chapter 11 - The Gorge of Shadows
The thunder of the approaching helicopter blades grew into a deafening roar that vibrated through the barn floorboards. Dust and dried hay rained down from the rafters.
Nathan took Clara’s face in his hands, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Clara, listen to me. I survived three years behind enemy lines because I knew you were waiting for me. I am not dying today. But you have to get Toby and Dad into that tunnel. The hatch is reinforced with three feet of granite capstone. It will survive the blast."
Toby ran over and threw his arms around Nathan's leg. "Dad, don't leave!"
Nathan knelt down, pulling Toby into a fierce, breathless hug. He took his military dog tags from around his neck and slipped them over Toby's head. The cold steel discs clinked against the boy's chest.
"Keep these safe for me, little warrior," Nathan whispered. "Lead the way down the tunnel for Mom and Grandpa. That’s an order from your commander."
Toby wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve and nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."
Arthur gripped Nathan’s shoulder with his weathered hand, his grip trembling with unsaid words. "Make them pay for every inch, son."
"Count on it, Dad," Nathan replied.
Arthur guided Clara and Toby behind the vintage tractor, prying open the heavy iron trapdoor set into the stone floor. One by one, they descended into the cool darkness of the abandoned mine shaft. Nathan lowered the heavy granite-reinforced hatch, throwing the internal mechanical dogging levers until the seal was airtight.
Nathan turned back to the center of the barn.
He took Sterling’s silver transponder cane, plugged the micro-ledger into the satellite relay port, and activated the high-frequency emergency distress broadcast on all open federal military channels. The blue diode flared to life, broadcasting the unredacted treason files directly to the Pentagon, the Department of Justice, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
Outside, the first gunship—a sleek, unmarked black attack helicopter—hovered two hundred yards above the burning cabin, its forward chin-mounted rotary cannon swiveling toward the barn.
Standing on the driveway below, Sterling looked up at the gunship, waving his arms frantically: "Sloane! Hold fire! I'm still on the property! The ledger is inside!"
Over the loudspeaker of the gunship, Sloane's voice responded with cold, mechanical detachment: "You failed to secure the asset, Julian. You are now a liability."
A pair of high-explosive air-to-ground missiles detached from the gunship’s pylons with a hiss of white smoke.
Nathan didn't run. He grabbed the winch control cable hanging from the barn rafters, kicked open the side hayloft doors, and leaped out into the empty mountain air just as the missiles slammed into the barn roof.
The explosion blew outward in a catastrophic wave of orange fire and splintered timber. The shockwave threw Nathan fifty feet across the pasture, his body slamming into the soft mud of the creek bank as the barn collapsed into a roaring sea of flame.
Nathan lay in the mud, his vision swimming, his ears ringing with high-pitched static.
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Through the haze of burning smoke, he saw the second gunship descending toward the clearing to confirm the kills.
And then, over the mountain horizon, three F-22 Raptor stealth fighters screamed across the sky at supersonic speed, their sonic booms shattering the valley like the crack of doom.
