A beat of absolute silence, and then Stan's hand moved. One sharp throw. A final smoke canister arced through the air and disappeared directly into the chopper's open door.
CHAOS!
The chopper banked hard, rotors shrieking as the pilot lost orientation in the sudden zero-visibility interior. It veered off the bridge fast, dropping altitude, the rotors carving wild circles in the night air.
Zack grabbed the doorframe, barely. His feet scrambled for the skid.
The chopper cleared the bridge and limped out toward the water, listing badly, smoke pouring from its open door in a streaming banner.
Below, blue and red lights began cascading along the coastal road, sirens rising in a swelling chorus from three directions at once.
Someone had received the files. Fast.
