Chapter 26 - The False Cargo
Julian grabbed the duffel bag and latched onto the helicopter's rescue harness.
“Au revoir, Don Dante!” Julian shouted over the roar of the rotor blades. The helicopter banked sharply, pulling upward into the rain-drenched midnight sky, disappearing over the tree line toward Long Island Sound.
Dante lowered his rifle. He did not fire a single shot at the retreating aircraft.
Mateo struggled to his feet, grimacing in pain as he pressed a cloth against his bleeding shoulder. “Boss... Boss, I failed! They took her! They took little Elena!”
Dante walked slowly over to Mateo, placing a firm, steady hand on his loyal soldier’s shoulder.
“Look inside the closet, Mateo,” Dante said quietly.
Mateo blinked through the haze of pain. He dragged himself toward the master bedroom's walk-in cedar closet.
Sitting inside, wrapped in a plush wool blanket, was little Elena. She was happily sucking on a lollipop, holding her silver spoon, completely unbothered by the war that had just raged outside. Next to her sat two heavily armed Moretti bodyguards who had remained hidden in the secret panic vault behind the shoe racks.
“What...?” Mateo gasped, his mouth hanging open. “Then what was in that bag?”
Dante walked to the balcony railing, staring into the dark clouds where the helicopter had vanished.
“Three bowling balls, forty pounds of iron weights, and an encrypted GPS transponder hooked up to twenty pounds of C4 explosive,” Dante murmured, pulling a remote detonator from his pocket.
Mateo stared in disbelief. “You knew they were coming tonight?”
“When the Architect called me earlier, he mentioned the seventy-two-hour deadline,” Dante explained, turning around. “A man who gives a deadline in our world is already setting his men in motion for that exact night. It’s an old Roman tactic—divert the eyes forward while stabbing the back. I had Elena moved to the safe vault the moment the dinner table was cleared.”
Elena poked her head out of the closet, waving her tiny spoon at Dante. “Big boom?” she asked playfully.
Dante’s cold eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “Yes, little one. Big boom.”
He turned back to the balcony, lifted the detonator, and flipped the safety switch.
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Ten miles to the east, high over the waters of the Long Island Sound, a brilliant orange fireball tore through the clouds, lighting up the midnight sky like an artificial dawn.
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