Chapter 73
The flight to Siberia was a grueling marathon of tension and tactical preparation. Vincent had procured a radar-absorbent, heavily modified military transport plane, capable of evading Russian airspace defenses by flying nap-of-the-earth through the treacherous mountain valleys.
The cabin was freezing, illuminated by stark red tactical lighting. Fifty elite operatives of the Ghost Legion sat in silence, meticulously checking their weapons and cold-weather gear.
Cole sat near the front, consulting a ruggedized digital tablet with Donovan.
"The mountain is essentially an inverted silo," Cole explained, tracing the schematics Sarah had managed to extrapolate from the quantum node. "The primary server hub is located on the lowest level, approximately two hundred yards beneath the surface. The only access is a central, heavy-duty freight elevator shaft."
"It's a fatal choke point," Donovan grunted, shaking her head. "If we rappel down that shaft, they will shred us before we hit the ground."
"We aren't going down the shaft," Vincent announced, stepping over to join them. He wore a heavy, white camouflage tactical suit, his customized assault rifle slung across his chest. "Silas wants us to walk into a kill box. So we are going to create our own door."
"How?" Cole asked.
Vincent pointed to a secondary thermal signature on the map, slightly offset from the main facility. "This mountain was originally a Soviet mining operation before it was a listening post. There are dozens of abandoned, structural ventilation shafts that vent the geothermal heat from the lower levels."
"They will be heavily grated and monitored by seismic sensors," Cole noted.
"Not if we freeze them," Vincent smiled—a dark, terrifying expression. "We deploy specialized, localized liquid-nitrogen charges. They will super-freeze the iron grates and the surrounding rock, making them brittle enough to shatter without triggering the seismic alarms."
"It's risky," Donovan muttered. "If the nitrogen doesn't hold, the mountain comes down on us."
"We live in the risk, Rachel," Cole said softly, his gray eyes locking onto the map. "We breach the ventilation shaft, bypass the upper defenses, and drop directly into the server hub."
"Ten minutes to the drop zone," the pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom. "Prepare for HALO insertion. The storm outside is a Category 3 blizzard. Visibility is zero."
"Perfect," Vincent murmured.
They stood up, securing their heavy oxygen masks and specialized arctic parachutes. The rear loading ramp of the transport plane hissed open, unleashing a deafening, sub-zero gale into the cabin.
The darkness outside was absolute, a swirling, violent vortex of snow and ice.
Vincent looked at Cole. The mafia king and the legendary operator shared a silent, profound nod of mutual respect and lethal intent.
May you like
"Execute," Vincent roared over the wind.
They stepped off the ramp, plummeting into the freezing abyss of the Siberian night.
