Chapter 8 - The Ride Through the Dark
The black government sedan tore through the deserted lanes of the Boston Expressway, its engine screaming as Marcus slammed the accelerator down, weaving recklessly between late-night freight trucks and sleepy commuters.
In the passenger seat, I stared out the rain-streaked window, my fingers rhythmically checking the slide of my Walther PPK. Every second felt like an eternity, the digital clock on the dashboard ticking upward with agonizing slowness: 3:14 a.m.
“If we hit the main entrance, they’ll see us coming on the security perimeter,” I said, my voice eerily calm, stripped of all panic. “We need to take the service loading dock on the east wing.”
“Already factored in,” Marcus replied without taking his eyes off the wet asphalt. He pulled a compact military-grade radio from his console and flipped the toggle. “Team Delta, report. Are you in position?”
A crisp, metallic voice crackled through the static: “Positioned at the east service bay, Agent Vance. Perimeter is locked, but we’ve intercepted encrypted comms chatter indicating an extraction team is already inside Ward 4-B.”
“Move in now,” Marcus commanded. “Do not let them leave the floor.”
I turned my head to look at him, the harsh dashboard lights casting sharp shadows across his weathered face. “You brought a tactical backup team? How did you know I’d leave the penthouse with you?”
“Because I read your military service record, Commander,” Marcus said, offering a fleeting, humorless smile. “You’re a surface warfare officer who spent ten years learning how to command a ship through a hurricane. When someone targets your family, you don't hunker down and wait for the police. You steer directly into the storm.”
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The car fishtailed slightly as Marcus took the hospital exit ramp at sixty miles per hour, sliding across the wet pavement before plunging down the steep ramp leading to the underground ambulance bay.
The tires screeched to a halt against the concrete pillars of the loading dock. Before the vehicle had even fully settled, I shoved my door open, vaulted out into the damp, echoing chill of the garage, and drew my weapon, sprinting toward the heavy steel service doors marked Authorized Personnel Only.
