Chapter 8 - The Chase on Lake Shore Drive
The utility van rocketed out of the underground garage ramp, bursting into the gray, rain-slicked expanse of Lake Shore Drive just as dawn began to bleed over the horizon. The morning commute traffic was already swelling, a chaotic river of yellow cabs, city buses, and commuter sedans cutting through the murky Chicago mist.
"Hold on!" Marco yelled, wrestling the steering wheel as a black SUV materialized out of nowhere, slamming its front bumper directly into the driver’s side quarter panel of the van.
The impact threw Mia hard against the passenger door window, her breath rushing out of her lungs in a sharp gasp. The utility van fishtailed violently across three lanes of traffic, narrowly clipping a city bus before Marco managed to regain control and straighten the wheel.
"They're not security," Mia shouted over the roaring wind rushing through the shattered side window. "They're local mercenaries!"
"Sterling bought half the private security contractors in the Midwest," Marco growled, checking his rearview mirror as two more black SUVs swarmed out from a side street, boxing them in on both sides. "And they want that flash drive back more than they want our blood."
"I don't have the flash drive anymore," Mia said calmly.
Marco glanced sideways at her, his eyes widening in shock. "What? Where is it?"
"I gave it to the elderly woman who cleans the penthouse breakroom before I went to sleep," Mia explained steadily, pulling a small, blank plastic casing from her coat pocket—a dummy drive she had swapped out an hour before the attack. "She's catching the 6:00 AM commuter train to Milwaukee to visit her granddaughter. By noon, she'll hand it over to a federal magistrate whose name isn't on Sterling’s payroll."
Marco let out a sudden, sharp bark of laughter that sounded part disbelief and part profound admiration. "Remind me never to play poker with you, Mia Carver."
"Just drive," she replied, loading a fresh magazine into her 9mm pistol. "Because the SUV on our left is trying to pit-maneuver us."
True to her word, the black SUV on their driver's side surged forward, its reinforced steel bumper grinding violently against the van's sliding door with a shower of orange sparks. Marco slammed his foot down on the accelerator, utilizing the heavy utility van's torque to push back against the lighter vehicle, forcing it to swerve dangerously close to the concrete median divider.
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Suddenly, a blinding flash of red and blue light erupted behind them as three unmarked Ford Interceptors with federal badges on their doors swarmed out of an underpass, sirens wailing at a deafening pitch.
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