Chapter 4 - The Surgical Trap
Elias moved swiftly into the expansive, stainless-steel kitchen. The red emergency lights cast an eerie glow over the expensive appliances. He placed his shotgun on the massive marble island and began opening cabinets with practiced efficiency.
He didn't have military explosives, but he had a medical professional's understanding of rapid chemical reactions. From the utility closet, he pulled out a heavy canister of pure, industrial-grade ammonia used for deep-cleaning the estate's stone floors. From the laundry room, he grabbed four gallons of high-concentration bleach.
He knew exactly what would happen when the two mixed: chloramine gas. Highly toxic, instantly incapacitating, and heavier than air, meaning it would settle near the floor where intruders would be forced to crawl once the smoke alarms triggered.
He dragged a heavy Persian rug away from the rear service entrance, exposing the polished stone floor. Carefully, he poured a shallow pool of bleach across the entryway. He balanced the open jug of ammonia precariously on the edge of a high shelf right above the door. He tied a thin piece of fishing line from the jug to the door handle.
If anyone opened that door, the ammonia would crash down into the bleach.
"Elias," Julian's voice suddenly echoed through the house. He was using a megaphone from outside. "I brought three men with me. Ex-military. They don't care about your medical degree. You have sixty seconds to open the front door and hand over my children, or we burn this place to the ground."
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Elias picked up his shotgun. "The police snowcat is ten minutes away, Julian!" he yelled back, knowing full well it was a lie. The roads were impassable. They were entirely on their own.
He moved back into the shadows of the hallway, raising the stock of the shotgun to his shoulder. Sixty seconds. His heart beat a steady, rhythmic sixty beats per minute. He was exactly where he needed to be.
