Chapter 10 - The Ambush at the Pier
The wind whipped my coat around my legs as I marched down the open expanse of the pier, the rhythmic crashing of the dark waves against the wooden pilings sounding like a drumbeat.
Inside the SUV, Wendy’s head snapped toward the passenger-side mirror. I saw her hand drop to the center console, presumably reaching for a radio or a weapon.
I stopped ten feet away from the driver's side door, holding the folder up so she could see it through the reinforced glass.
"Open the window, Wendy!" I shouted over the wind. "The documents are here! Let Fiona go!"
Wendy rolled the power window down about three inches, her face pinched into a cold, vicious scowl. "Put the folder on the hood and step back, David. Don't play games."
"Where's Arthur?" I demanded, taking half a step closer.
"That's none of your concern—"
Before Wendy could finish her sentence, a blinding wall of white light suddenly erupted from the water behind the pier.
Two matte-black tactical Zodiac boats slammed silently against the wooden pilings of slip three, their high-intensity searchlights flooding the SUV in a blinding, disorienting glare. Uniformed figures in dark tactical gear vaulted over the side rails with weapon systems raised, moving with terrifying, practiced precision.
Wendy screamed, slamming the SUV into reverse, but before the tires could catch the wet pavement, a heavy armored tactical van blocked the exit path behind them, its lights flashing brilliant red and blue.
"Federal Marshal Service! Stay where you are! Keep your hands where we can see them!" a booming voice echoed through a megaphone across the pier.
Inside the back seat, Fiona pressed her face against the glass, her eyes wide, but the moment she saw me sprinting toward the rear door, her expression changed from terror to absolute relief.
I wrenched the rear door open, scooping my daughter up into my arms and pulling her tight against my chest as the cold wind whipped around us.
"I've got you, baby," I whispered into her hair, my own voice trembling as I buried my face in her coat. "We're going home."
From the shadows of the old ticketing pavilion, a figure in a dark trench coat broke cover, sprinting toward the rocky shoreline behind the terminal.
May you like
It was Arthur.
And before the federal agents could pivot their weapons toward the fleeing fugitive, a sleek black sedan pulled out from the access road, its tires screeching on the gravel as Arthur dove into the passenger side and vanished into the gray Greenwich mist.
