Chapter 10 - The Voice on the Radio
I reached down, picked up the field-radio microphone from the desk, and clicked the transmit trigger.
"Good evening, Victor," I said into the receiver, my voice carrying the steady, chilling cadence of a commanding officer addressing a mutineer.
The radio speaker fell instantly silent. For three agonizing seconds, there was only the faint, high-pitched hiss of static feedback.
“Fiona,” Victor Vance’s voice finally hissed through the speaker, stripped of all its professional composure, replaced by pure, venomous hatred. “You arrogant little girl. You think because your grandfather handed you a box of old toys that you actually know how to run this command? You're playing chess against a grandmaster with a loaded gun.”
"The only gun in this room is currently pressed against your nephew's neck, Victor," I replied smoothly, glancing down at Mark, who was shaking so violently his teeth were chattering. "And as for the grandmaster routine? You just walked your entire network into a federal trap."
“You think freezing a few corporate accounts stops us?” Victor snarled over the radio. “The syndicate has deep roots in the Pentagon, in the Department of Justice, and inside Fort Blackwood itself. By sunrise, a military tribunal will strip you of your rank, invalidate your grandfather's transfer order, and lock you away in a federal brig for treason and abuse of authority.”
"Let them try," I said. "Because while you're busy planning my tribunal, Colonel Hayes and a full tactical detachment of federal marshals are currently executing a search warrant on your private residence in Virginia, seizing every encrypted hard drive, ledger, and communication log linking you to the Zurich transfers."
The line went dead with a deafening click.
Mark slumped forward against the terminal desk, his strength completely giving out as the reality of his family's total ruin settled over him.
I clicked my belt comms unit. "Colonel Hayes, this is Director Palmer. Secure the server room. Mark Vance is in custody. Prepare a secure transport for him to Fort Blackwood."
“Copy that, Director,” Hayes replied crisply, his voice carrying a note of profound respect. “We just intercepted a coded transmission from Victor’s Virginia residence. He’s running. He’s heading for the private airfield in DuPage County right now.”
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I holstered my sidearm, pulled the mahogany box closer to the terminal to disconnect the data bridge, and turned toward the dark service corridor leading back to the garage.
"Lock down the city airspaces," I ordered into my comms unit as I broke into a run up the concrete stairs. "Nobody leaves Chicago tonight."
