Chapter 15 - The Island Fortress
The satellite phone went entirely black, leaving us surrounded by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries in the freezing prison parking lot.
I was completely paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of our catastrophic failure, my tears freezing against my bruised cheeks.
The lead mercenary ordered his men to blindfold us and bind our wrists with heavy, industrial zip-ties.
We were shoved brutally into the back of a black SUV, the heavy doors locking us inside a dark, terrifying cage.
Damien shifted his body in the dark, pressing his shoulder against mine to offer a silent, desperate comfort.
"I am going to get them back, Mara," he whispered fiercely, his voice vibrating with a lethal, unrestrained rage.
"I do not care if I have to burn that entire island into the ocean; Arthur is going to die today."
The drive felt like an eternity of agonizing suspense, culminating in the deafening roar of a heavy military transport helicopter.
We were dragged onto the aircraft, the violent vibrations of the rotors shaking my bones as we flew over the freezing Atlantic Ocean.
After three excruciating hours, the helicopter banked sharply and began a rapid, stomach-dropping descent.
The mercenaries ripped the blindfolds from our faces, the sudden, blinding light of a surgical bay assaulting my vision.
We had landed directly inside Arthur Mercer's shadow medical facility, a fortress carved into the jagged cliffs of Nova Scotia.
The sterile white walls were lined with advanced medical equipment that made my hospital back in New York look like a primitive clinic.
Arthur was waiting for us at the end of the hallway, flanked by a massive team of corrupt, highly-paid private surgeons.
He looked like a walking corpse, his skin stretched tightly over his skull, kept alive only by the humming machines attached to his wheelchair.
"Welcome to the true Mercer legacy," Arthur wheezed, waving a bony hand toward a reinforced glass observation room.
I slammed my body against the glass, screaming hysterically as I looked into the adjacent surgical suite.
Ethan and Noah were strapped securely to two stainless steel operating tables, completely sedated and hooked up to heavy IV lines.
"Do not touch them!" I roared, fighting against the heavy grip of the two mercenaries holding my arms.
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Damien lunged forward, throwing a violent, devastating punch that shattered the jaw of the closest guard before three others aggressively tackled him to the ground.
Arthur chuckled, a wet, sickening sound as he pressed a button on his wheelchair, signaling the surgical team to begin the extraction.
