Chapter 937
“No,” Skye said, her heart breaking. “You didn’t burn anyone. Come with us. Julian is waiting.”
“Julian?” Ethan reached out a trembling hand.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP.
A black helicopter rose from the far side of the rig. The Mastermind’s extraction team. A cable lowered, and a man in a harness descended, grabbed Ethan by the back of his tactical vest, and yanked him into the air.
𝘔оs𝘁 𝗋𝖾а𝗱 𝗍𝗵i𝘴 𝘄e𝖾𝗸 o𝗇 g𝘢𝘭𝗇𝘰𝘷𝗲𝗹ѕ.𝘤𝗈𝘮
“No!” Skye seized Ethan’s ankle.
She was lifted off the deck, dangling over the holographic fire below.
“Let go, Skye!” Liam shouted, training his gun on the helicopter. “I can’t get a clear shot!”
Ethan looked down at her. He kicked his leg, breaking her grip. “Save Julian,” he mouthed.
She hit the deck hard and rolled to absorb the impact. She lay still for a moment, watching the helicopter bank away and carry Ethan back into the darkness.
The holographic fire flickered and died as Parker cut the system.
Silence returned to the rig.
Victoria was sobbing in Alistair’s arms. “He was so scared. He was just a little kid.”
Skye got to her feet, bruising already forming along her side. She watched the red tail light of the helicopter dissolve into the night.
“We got Victoria,” Liam said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mission accomplished.”
“No,” Skye said flatly. “They still have Ethan. And now I know where they’re taking him.”
“Where?”
Skye pointed to the logo on the helicopter’s tail. “The Prestige Hotel. It’s a front. That’s their HQ.”
The Prestige Hotel was a fortress of glass and marble in the city center.
“We can’t just walk in,” Alistair said. “They’ll have facial recognition on us.”
“We need a ghost,” Skye said. She looked at Parker, who was wiping grease from his face. “Parker. You’re up.”
“Me? I’m exhausted.”
“You’re going to be Maximillian Sterling,” Skye said. “We’ll hack the hotel’s guest registry and insert a fake profile — a reclusive billionaire cousin.”
“I can’t just walk in there,” Parker protested. “They have scanners. They know my face.”
“Not with this.” Liam pulled a case from the tactical bag and opened it to reveal a pair of heavy, black-rimmed glasses embedded with LEDs and a high-collar coat. “Infrared dazzlers. To a camera, your face is a ball of white light. But for the human element…” He tossed a wig and a fake mustache onto the table. “You’ll need these. The concierge isn’t a robot.”
An hour later, Parker was transformed. He wore one of Liam’s bespoke suits — pinned at the back — along with the high-tech glasses, a convincing silver-grey wig, and a neatly trimmed mustache. He drew on every attitude he had absorbed from years of reality television.
He marched into the lobby of The Prestige.
“I demand the penthouse,” Parker declared in a posh accent that was slightly too British. “And make it snappy. My corgi is intolerant to lobby air.”
The receptionist typed with a small frown as the screen flashed his hacked credentials. “Sir, the penthouse is currently occupied by a Mr. Silver.”