Chapter 4
The free-fall was a chaotic, bone-chilling nightmare. The gale-force winds battered Cole’s body, threatening to throw him into a violent, uncontrollable spin. He relied entirely on his wrist-mounted altimeter and the heads-up display in his goggles to navigate the blinding snow.
15,000 feet. 10,000 feet.
Through the dense, swirling storm clouds below, the jagged, unforgiving peaks of the Ural Mountains appeared on his thermal optics.
"Deploying canopy," Cole whispered into his comms.
He pulled the ripcord at exactly one thousand feet. The specialized, low-profile white canopy deployed with a brutal, jarring jolt.
He steered through the roaring crosswinds, aiming for a narrow, snow-covered plateau near the summit of the target mountain. He hit the deep powder hard, executing a tactical roll to absorb the impact, and instantly detached his harness.
Vincent and Donovan landed seconds later, followed by the rest of the Ghost Legion. They melted instantly into the snowy landscape, invisible against the stark white terrain.
"Perimeter secure," Vincent reported, checking his weapon. "Move to the ventilation shaft."
They navigated the treacherous, icy ridge, the howling wind masking the crunch of their boots. They reached the designated coordinates—a massive, rusted iron grate jutting out from the side of the mountain, venting warm air into the freezing storm.
Cole stepped forward, pulling a heavy, specialized canister from his tactical pack. He applied the liquid-nitrogen charges meticulously around the rusted hinges and the surrounding rock.
"Charges set," Cole signaled. "Cover your eyes."
He didn't use a detonator. He struck the frozen metal with the heavy steel butt of his rifle.
The super-frozen iron shattered silently, breaking into a million brittle pieces that fell harmlessly into the dark shaft below. The surrounding rock groaned, but the seismic dampeners held.
"We are in," Vincent whispered.
They secured heavy repelling lines and descended into the dark, echoing ventilation shaft. The air grew steadily warmer, smelling of ozone and machine oil as they dropped deeper into the mountain.
"Sarah, we are passing level three," Cole whispered into his comms. "Status on their internal grid?"
"They haven't detected the breach," Sarah reported from the Montana safehouse, her voice tight with focus. "But Silas is accelerating the protocol. You have exactly twenty minutes before the global wipe initiates."
They reached the end of the shaft. Below them, through a heavy metal grate, lay the primary server hub of the Lazarus syndicate.
It was a massive, cavernous room bathed in the eerie, pulsating blue glow of towering quantum mainframes. In the center of the room, standing on a raised glass platform, was Silas Vance. He was flanked by twenty elite, heavily armored Praetorian guards.
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"He's waiting for us," Donovan noted softly, peering through the grate.
"He thinks we are coming down the elevator," Vincent smiled darkly. "Let's change his perspective."
