Over Hillland College, two helicopters held station over the laboratory block. In the first cabin, Barney Ross and Christmas were already kitted up on the skids, ropes ready.
"Fifteen minutes, in and out," Ross signaled with a thumbs-up. "If we're not clear by then, abort."
Toll Road acknowledged over comms and flew them onto the roof edge. The insertion wasn't subtle; guards below clocked the birds immediately.
The second helicopter slid in behind, piloted by Yin Yang. Caesar stood braced in the door, heavy machine gun barking as he hosed the perimeter to pin the security teams.
Inside the complex, the monitoring officer lunged for the phone. The line was dead—cut. "Move! Secure Professor Smith and the Rabbit's Foot!" he shouted. Everyone knew what the attackers were here for. Jason Tate didn't rank on their priority list.
They sprinted for the lab.
In the vault antechamber, Cole Shaw and Jason heard the first gunfire roll across the floors. Cole palmed a slab of explosive chewing gum and pressed it to the safe-room doorframe. He tossed Jason a compact SMG.
"Spare me the tutorial," Jason said, racking the bolt. "I've lived with weapons for years."
Cole's satphone vibrated—the video package from their outside team had landed. He downloaded, glanced once, and allowed himself a thin smile.
Boots thundered in the corridor. Cole raised the remote.
The door cycled. The first wave of officers poured in, angling to pull Smith and the Rabbit's Foot out.
Cole clicked the trigger.
The blast punched the room, shredding the stack at the threshold. Jason stitched the survivors before they could think about getting up. When the smoke flattened, the safe-room door wore a jagged hole and most of the entry team were scattered in pieces across the floor.
"Now we wait for Ross," Cole said. He drew the Mad Dog knife, opened Professor Smith's forearm, and slipped out the embedded control chip. Then he opened Smith's throat in one clean draw. "He made his choice."
Jason looked away and said nothing, acceptance tight in his jaw. He lifted the inner case—the Rabbit's Foot sat locked inside a small, specialized safe. The alloyed shell wouldn't tolerate brute force; only the correct sequence would open it without a leak.
In the stairwell and halls, Ross and Christmas carved through the guards, methodical and fast. On the roof, Yin Yang settled the helicopter; he and Caesar moved in from above.
Ross and Christmas hit the lab doors first. The bodies and the blown frame stopped them cold. "We're late," Christmas muttered.
Ross pushed through and found Cole and Jason waiting in the vault, Smith's corpse slumped beside them, Jason holding the suitcase.
Guns snapped up—Ross and Christmas sighted on Cole and Jason. "Shaw," Ross said, voice flat, "hand over Jason Tate and the box."
He wanted to put a round through Cole then and there, but the scene smelled like a setup; Cole had been waiting.
Cole didn't flinch. "Relax. My people have the comms here cut. Reinforcements will be slow. Sit. Talk."
He nudged a chair out with his boot. Ross held his stare, then sat. Yin Yang and Caesar arrived a beat later, weapons levelled, taking in the stand-off with tight frowns.
"We're all here," Cole said. "I know your brief. I'd rather be allies. But Gunnar came to kill me. I answered."
"What's your play, Shaw? You think you walk out of here?" Ross asked. The others kept their muzzles locked on Cole.
"I think I walk," Cole said. He lifted the satphone. "And I think you're going to watch a few things first."
He hit the first clip.
On screen, Adolfson stood on a quiet suburban street, remote in hand, lens panning to a familiar house. "Recognize this? One press and this place becomes dust."
Christmas stiffened. He knew the house: his girl's place. He'd bought it for her.