Chapter 70
Within ten minutes, the dark sky above the Maine coastline erupted into blinding light. Four heavily armed U.S. Navy fighter jets screamed overhead, their afterburners glowing like meteors in the night.
They banked sharply, deploying brilliant, sun-white illumination flares that turned the night into day, completely exposing the Leviathan fleet.
"Unidentified vessels, you are in violation of United States maritime sovereignty," a booming voice echoed from the sky, broadcast from a circling Navy AWACS plane. "Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded. Any aggressive action will be met with deadly force."
The Leviathan commander on the destroyer, realizing his entire fleet had been forced to the surface, paralyzed by a cyber-attack, and exposed to the full might of the U.S. military, panicked.
He made a fatal miscalculation. He ordered the destroyer’s automated anti-aircraft turrets to engage the fighter jets.
The moment the destroyer opened fire, its fate was sealed.
The Navy jets returned fire with overwhelming, devastating force. Laser-guided, anti-ship missiles rained down from the sky, striking the destroyer and the surfaced submarines with catastrophic, pinpoint accuracy.
The explosions were spectacular, massive fireballs that lit up the horizon, tearing the archaic Soviet vessels to shreds. The Leviathan fleet, the shadow army that had terrified the underworld, was completely, permanently annihilated by the very government they had sought to avoid.
Cole, Sarah, and Donovan watched the destruction from the safety of the cliff, the concussive shockwaves washing over them.
"It's over," Donovan breathed out, awe and profound relief in her voice.
"It is," Cole murmured, lowering his laser designator. He had used the enemy's own arrogance and the power of the state to finish a war he couldn't win with bullets alone.
He turned away from the burning ocean, looking at his sister and his trusted sergeant. "Let's go home."
They drove back to the safehouse in Montana. The atmosphere in the truck was light, the oppressive, terrifying weight of the past year finally, permanently lifted.
When they arrived, Ava and Nora were waiting on the porch. The little girl ran into Cole’s arms, holding her white stuffed bunny tightly, completely unaware that the monsters who had haunted her dreams were dead at the bottom of the ocean.
Cole held her tightly, kissing her cheek, and looked over at Ava. She smiled, a radiant, beautiful expression of absolute peace.
They had survived the fire, and they had built a sanctuary.
One month later.
The Moretti estate in Chicago was fully restored, the gardens blooming brightly in the early summer sun. Vincent and Clara sat on the terrace, watching Luca and baby Aurora playing on the grass.
Cole Bennett, wearing casual denim and a relaxed smile, sat across from them, nursing a glass of bourbon.
"The federal authorities attributed the destruction of the fleet to a rogue terror cell," Vincent reported, clinking his glass against Cole’s. "The investigation is closed. The biometric data in the vault is safe. The war is officially, definitively over."
"We earned our peace, Vincent," Cole said softly, looking out over the quiet, beautiful grounds.
"We did," Vincent agreed, his gray eyes shining with profound contentment.
But as the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the lawn, a faint, rhythmic tapping sound echoed from the heavy oak front doors of the estate.
It wasn't a frantic knock. It was a precise, deliberate sequence.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Cole and Vincent froze simultaneously, their relaxed postures vanishing instantly. The apex predators awakened in a microsecond.
They recognized the sequence. It was the archaic Morse code for a single word.
Lazarus.
May you like
The war for the old world was over. But as they looked toward the heavy doors, they knew the truth.
The monsters never truly die; they just wait for the dark to return.
