Chapter 4 - The Fortress in the Pines
The rain had turned into a thick, freezing sleet by the time the black SUV cut its headlights and glided to a stop along a muddy dirt road half a mile from the compound perimeter.
The facility rose out of the pine forest like a grey concrete monster. High chain-link fences topped with razor wire encircled the perimeter, guarded by motion-activated floodlights and armed security patrols clad in black winter gear.
Inside the SUV, Stallone finished strapping a tactical vest over his black sweater. He checked the magazine of his custom sidearm, slamming it home with a sharp clack.
He turned to the back seat, where Leo was watching him with wide, anxious eyes.
"Marco," Stallone said quietly. "You stay here with the kid. Keep the engine running. If anyone comes near this vehicle that isn't me or Miller, you floor it and drive straight to the state police headquarters."
"Boss, let me go in with you," Marco pleaded, his eyes fierce. "You shouldn't take a fortified position alone."
"I’m not alone," Stallone said, nodding toward Miller, who was adjusting his tactical ear-piece in the front seat. "Frank knows the interior layout from the blueprints. Besides, Marco... I need the man I trust most protecting my son."
Marco looked at young Leo, then nodded solemnly. "Understood, boss. Nobody touches the kid."
Stallone reached out, placing his large hand on Leo’s head, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Stay low, kiddo. I’m bringing your brother back."
"Daddy," Leo whispered, reaching up to touch his father’s jacket. "His name... she used to call him Julian in her phone calls. Please don't let her hurt Julian."
Stallone’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "Julian. Got it."
Two minutes later, Stallone and Miller were moving through the dark, freezing pine forest like shadows. The cold wind howled through the trees, masking the sound of their heavy boots crunching against the frozen mud.
They reached the eastern perimeter wall where the high-voltage security fence met a sheer rock cliff.
Miller pulled up a handheld electronic scanner, holding it against the control box attached to the fence post. "I’m jamming their perimeter motion sensors for three minutes. Go now."
Stallone didn't hesitate. He grabbed the top of the seven-foot fence, his immense upper-body strength pulling him over the razor wire with practiced ease. He dropped silently onto the soft mud on the other side, rolling into the shadow of a heavy wooden supply shed.
A private security guard holding a rifle rounded the corner of the shed, his flashlight cutting through the fog.
Before the guard could raise his weapon or cry out, Stallone stepped from the darkness. He grabbed the guard's rifle barrel, twisting it upward while driving a heavy left hook straight into the guard's jaw.
The guard went limp instantly. Stallone caught the unconscious man before he hit the ground, dragging him behind the supply shed and taking his security keycard.
Miller dropped over the fence beside him, breathless. "Clean entry. Main building access is twenty yards ahead through the service entrance."
They moved swiftly across the open courtyard, slipping through the steel service door using the stolen keycard.
Inside, the compound was clinical, cold, and lit by buzzing fluorescent lights. The air smelled of industrial bleach and copper.
"Where are they keeping him?" Stallone asked, his eyes scanning the corridor.
Miller tapped his tablet, accessing the building’s internal security feed. His face hardened. "Third-floor security wing. Room 304. And Sylvester... we have a problem."
"What problem?"
"Victoria’s private jet is scheduled to take off from a private airfield five miles from here in twenty minutes," Miller revealed, looking at the security feed. "Camera two shows two armed guards bringing a young boy down the service elevator right now. They’re loading him into an armored transport vehicle in the basement garage!"
Stallone didn't wait for Miller to finish. He broke into a dead sprint down the concrete hallway, his heavy boots booming off the walls like thunder.
He reached the grand central staircase just as three armed guards came rushing up from the basement level, their assault rifles raised.
"Hold it right there!" the lead guard shouted.
Stallone didn't stop. He vaulted over the steel handrail, dropping eight feet straight down onto the lead guard, crushing him to the floor.
Before the second guard could react, Stallone grabbed the man's rifle, driving his elbow into the guard's nose with brutal precision, then hurling him over the stairwell railing into the concrete pit below.
The third guard backed away, his hands shaking as he aimed his pistol at Stallone’s chest.
"Move," Stallone growled, stepping forward, his eyes burning with absolute fatality. "Or I rip your arm off and beat you to death with it."
The guard looked at Stallone’s massive, imposing frame, looked at his two broken comrades on the floor, dropped his weapon, and ran for his life down the corridor.
Stallone shoved open the double steel doors leading into the underground parking garage.
The vast concrete space echoed with the roar of a heavy diesel engine. Standing beside a black armored suburban was Victoria Vance, wearing a expensive fur coat, holding a small, silver velvet bag.
Beside her, two heavy security guards were shoving a small, dark-haired eight-year-old boy into the back seat. The boy was wearing oversized, faded gray clothing, his hands bound with zip-ties, his small face pale with sheer terror.
He looked identical to Leo.
"Victoria!" Stallone’s voice roared through the concrete garage like a blast from a shotgun.
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Victoria spun around, her eyes widening in horror as she saw Stallone marching across the floor toward her, covered in mud and blood, looking like an unstoppable force of nature.
"Shoot him!" Victoria screamed at her guards, her voice cracking in wild panic. "Shoot him now!"
