Chapter 6 - NIGHT OF THE MOUNTAIN STORM
A blinding white blizzard raged across the Adirondack Mountains, howling through the tall pine trees and dumping three feet of powdery snow across the winding access roads leading to Lake Placid.
Inside the logging estate, the atmosphere was warm and peaceful. A massive fire roared in the central stone hearth, casting a soft golden glow across the pine paneling. Ray Alvarez sat in the armchair near the hearth, reading a novel, while Marisol sat at the rug nearby, assembling a intricate wooden jigsaw puzzle of the world map.
Outside, the storm had knocked out the primary power lines, switching the estate over to its silent backup diesel generator system.
In the security control room near the garage, two of Damian's guards sat monitoring the external thermal imaging camera feeds.
Suddenly, the screen monitoring the southern perimeter gate flickered violently before going completely black.
"What was that?" the senior guard asked, leaning forward to tap the monitor screen. "Did the wind knock out the camera four feed?"
Before his partner could answer, the red emergency alarm on the console began to flash silently, accompanied by the muffled, distant sound of silenced automatic gunfire echoing through the howling wind outside.
"Infiltration!" the guard yelled, grabbing his tactical rifle from the rack and hitting the lockdown button for the main house. "Notify the Boss in the city! Get Alvarez and the kid into the panic room!"
Inside the main living room, heavy steel security shutters began to automatically roll down over the wide glass windows with a loud, mechanical thud.
Ray jumped up from his chair, dropping his book, his face instantly white with terror. "Marisol! Come here! Right now!"
Marisol leaped to her feet, grabbing the wooden pocket watch Damian had given her from the table, clutching it tightly against her chest as she ran into her father's arms.
The side door leading to the kitchen was suddenly blown inward with a deafening explosive blast, sending wooden splinters and smoke flying through the air.
Six heavily armed men in white winter camouflage gear and tactical masks burst into the smoke-filled room, their weapons raised.
Ray threw himself over Marisol, using his body as a human shield as he collapsed onto the rug behind the heavy leather sofa.
The leader of the Russian strike team stepped over the shattered doorway, holding a silenced submachine gun, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy.
"Ray Alvarez," the leader rasped through his tactical mask. "Nikolai Volkov sends his warm regards from Brooklyn. Get up, both of you, if you want to keep breathing."
Ray looked up, trembling violently, holding Marisol so tightly her ribs hurt. "Please... take me! Don't hurt my daughter! Take me!"
"You're both coming," the strike leader growled, stepping forward to grab Ray by the collar of his sweater. "You’re our insurance policy."
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Suddenly, a loud, metallic click echoed from the dark hallway behind the kitchen.
Before the strike team leader could react, a heavy smoke grenade rolled into the center of the room, instantly detonating in a blinding flash of white light and thunderous sound.
