“Slipped out,” Warren muttered. Stone walked to the fireplace, where there was no fire but a strong draft of cold air. He kicked the iron grate, and it fell away, revealing a dark passage.
A classic escape route. Warren stepped to the opening and radioed the other teams. He ordered every exterior exit, vent access, and service route around the building covered immediately.
“Movement on the roof,” Charlie reported at once. “There’s a helipad up there.” Warren swore under his breath. The passage didn’t lead down. It led up.
The Architect had a helicopter ready. “Roof! Move!” Warren shouted, already sprinting for the stairwell. “If that bird gets airborne, we lose him.”
The operators forgot their fatigue and drove upward. Every step hurt, gear dragged at their shoulders, but adrenaline carried them. They were not going to let this man walk away.
Warren hit the final steel door to the roof with his boot and burst through. Cold night air slammed into the team’s faces.
In the middle of the roof, on a lit pad, sat a small private helicopter with the engine running. The rotor blades were already spinning up.
Beside it, bent low against the rotor wash, ran the Architect. A hard-sided case was clutched in one hand while the other tried to hold his torn jacket together. “Stop now or we fire!” Warren shouted, bringing up his rifle.
The Architect turned. In the navigation lights, his face looked wild. Seeing the team, he understood he had no time left and dove into the cabin. The pilot shoved the throttle forward.
The helicopter lifted, wobbling, a few feet off the pad. “He’s going!” Stone yelled over the rotor noise. Warren hesitated for one fraction of a second.
Bringing down a civilian aircraft over occupied property was a serious call. But letting the target escape was worse. The helicopter was already airborne when the Architect looked through the glass and made a crude gesture at the men below. That settled it.
“Disable it,” Warren ordered.
