Chapter 6 - The Ambush at Dawn
The screech of rubber tearing against asphalt cut through the morning air of Central Park like a razor.
I vaulted forward, my lungs burning, completely abandoning any instinct of self-preservation as the unmarked black tactical van boxed in the Mercedes Maybach. Through the tinted glass of the Maybach, I caught a brief, terrifying glimpse of Madeline pulling the three infants tighter against her chest, her mouth open in a soundless scream.
“No!” I roared, sprinting across the frosty grass.
Before I could reach the rear door, the tactical van’s side slider slammed back with a metallic clatter. The men spilling out weren’t federal agents. Their tactical vests bore no insignia, no agency acronym, and no badges. Their faces were obscured by heavy black balaclavas, and the assault rifles gripped in their gloved hands were military-grade.
“Step back, Vance!” one of them barked, swinging the barrel of his weapon toward my chest.
I didn't stop. I threw my weight forward, slamming my shoulder directly into the gunman’s midsection. We collided with a bone-jarring crash, tumbling together into the frozen brush. The rifle discharged into the air, a deafening crack that echoed across the park, sending distant flocks of pigeons scattering into the gray sky.
Overhead, the front door of the Maybach swung open. Richard Vale stepped out with cold, terrifying precision. He didn't flinch at the gunfire. Instead, his hand slid inside his coat, emerging with a sleek, snub-nosed Sig Sauer pistol.
“You picked the wrong family to extort,” Richard said, his voice a lethal whisper.
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Before Richard could pull the trigger, a second masked operative stepped out from behind the tactical van, leveling his weapon straight at Richard’s chest.
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