Chapter 8 - Ambush in the Hallway
The sharp crash of shattering glass echoed up through the stairwell, instantly shattering the brief triumph in the attic.
Mark snapped his head toward the trapdoor, his muscles instantly tensing as adrenaline flooded his bloodstream.
"They're coming up," Mark hissed, dropping the data cartridge securely into his pants pocket and grabbing the heavy iron poker once more.
Victor slid the leather journal into his overcoat pocket with practiced speed, his calm exterior returning in an instant.
"Your perimeter security downstairs has been breached," Victor noted coolly, pulling a small, silenced automatic pistol from a holster beneath his coat.
Elena gasped, stepping backward into the shadows of the sloping roof rafters. "You brought a gun into a residential home?"
"I brought protection against men who don't negotiate," Victor corrected without looking at her, racking the slide of the weapon with a soft, metallic click.
Mark cast a furious glare at Victor. "This is my house! I didn't invite you to turn my home into a war zone!"
"Save the domestic disputes for after we survive the next two minutes, Mark," Victor retorted, moving swiftly toward the edge of the attic trapdoor.
Before they could reach the opening, heavy, rushing footsteps slammed onto the top landing just outside the attic door.
A burly man in a tactical jacket burst through the doorway, leveling a short-barreled shotgun directly toward the dark confines of the attic space.
"Drop the tools!" the intruder roared, his eyes locking onto Mark’s towering frame standing near the junction box.
Mark didn't flinch. With a sudden, explosive motion, he hurled the heavy iron fireplace poker like a massive javelin across the attic floor.
The iron bar struck the intruder squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of him with a brutal, sickening thud and sending him stumbling backward.
Victor moved with terrifying efficiency, sliding past Mark and stepping smoothly to the edge of the trapdoor.
With a soft, muffled pfft, Victor fired a single shot that struck the wall inches from the intruder's head, splintering the wooden framing.
"Drop the weapon, Miller," a second voice barked from the hallway below, accompanied by the cold, unmistakable sound of multiple firearms being cocked in unison.
Elena cried out softly, ducking lower behind a stack of old moving boxes as the standoff reached a boiling point.
Mark stepped back to protect her, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.
"There are too many of them, Victor," Mark whispered harshly, assessing the tactical impossibility of fighting their way down the stairs. "We're completely trapped up here."
Victor didn't lower his pistol, his eyes darting frantically around the cluttered attic space in search of an alternative exit route.
"Not necessarily," Victor murmured, his gaze locking onto a small, dusty ventilation hatch set high up in the gable wall of the roof.
Mark followed his gaze, realizing immediately that the old exterior maintenance ladder led straight down to the backyard patio, far away from the armed men holding the front entrance.
"Take Elena and the girl," Mark instructed quickly, turning to face his wife with an unwavering command in his eyes. "Get out through the gable hatch right now."
Elena grabbed his arm, refusing to budge an inch. "I'm not leaving you here to face them alone, Mark. We go together or not at all."
"If you stay here, we all die," Mark said fiercely, pressing the data cartridge firmly into her palm. "Take this drive and run. If I don't walk out of this house in ten minutes, you drive straight to the federal building downtown."
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Downstairs, a heavy boot kicked violently against the lower door frame, splintering the wood and bringing the armed men one step closer to the attic stairs.
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