Chapter 10 - The Overhead Threat
The heavy thud of combat boots stomping across the weathered corrugated tin roof vibrated through the entire structure of the boathouse, sending a fine shower of rust and dust raining down onto the wooden floorboards. Marcus didn't even blink; his gaze remained locked onto Leo with an unsettling, predatory calm.
"Drop the canvas wrap, Leo. You're out of moves," Marcus said, extending an open palm toward the hard drive. "You can't fight an entire network from a rotting dock in the middle of nowhere."
Instead of complying, Leo suddenly lowered his center of gravity, swept his right foot outward in a vicious, low arc, and kicked over a heavy wooden workbench loaded with spare boat batteries and rusted iron anchors. The bench crashed onto the floor with a deafening roar, smashing into the support pilings and sending a cascade of heavy tools and acid-filled batteries splashing into the stagnant lake water below.
The unexpected impact shattered the floorboards beneath Marcus’s feet, causing his younger brother to stumble backward into a stack of empty fuel drums.
Before Marcus could recover his footing, the wooden door of the boathouse splintered inward with a thunderous crash as a heavy combat boot kicked it off its rusted hinges. Two armed operatives in matte-black tactical gear surged into the dim interior, their suppressed assault rifles raised and sweeping the room for targets in a practiced, fluid motion.
"Hold your fire! The asset must remain intact!" Marcus barked angrily from the floor, scrambling back to his feet and wiping dust from the sleeve of his raincoat.
Leo didn't wait for them to re-acquire their targets. He lunged forward through the cloud of rising dust, grabbed the heavy wooden oar resting against the back wall, and swung it with both hands like a baseball bat directly into the chest of the leading operative. The man let out a sharp gasp of air as the impact knocked him backward out the shattered doorway, tumbling off the edge of the dock and splashing heavily into the dark water.
The second operative swung his rifle barrel toward Leo, his finger tightening on the trigger, but before he could fire, a blinding flash of white light illuminated the boathouse windows from the outside.
A high-powered spotlight mounted on an approaching sheriff's department patrol boat swept across the marshland, bathing the interior of the boathouse in an intense, inescapable glare. Through the open doorway, the deep, rhythmic thrum of a helicopter rotor could be heard cutting through the late afternoon sky, its searchlight locking onto the roof of the structure.
"Drop your weapons! Federal and state authority! Drop your weapons now!" a voice amplified through a high-decibel bullhorn boomed across the lake.
Marcus cursed under his breath, his eyes darting frantically from the open doorway to the window overlooking the lake. He pulled a small, cylindrical metal device from his tactical belt and dropped it onto the floor between them.
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"This isn't over, brother," Marcus snarled, before diving headfirst through the side window into the murky lake water just as the flashbang detonated with a blinding, ear-splitting white-hot flash.
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