Chapter 9 - Sirens in the Distance
Before Marcus’s finger could tighten on the trigger, a faint, high-pitched wail began to echo from somewhere down Fifth Avenue.
It wasn't the sound of a single police cruiser. It was the synchronized, deafening howl of a full tactical motorcade—dozens of sirens converging on Central Park from multiple directions simultaneously.
Marcus froze, his expression twisting from arrogant triumph into sudden, volatile panic.
“What is that?” Marcus hissed, looking frantically at his lead gunman. “Did you compromise the perimeter frequencies?”
“No, boss! We jammed all local radio bands!” the gunman shouted back, his voice cracking with fear.
Richard Vale let out a slow, cold smile, lowering his hands completely. “You jammed local police frequencies, Marcus. You forgot that federal cyber-crimes units operate on encrypted satellite relays.”
Richard’s gaze flicked toward me, acknowledging the subtle play I had just made with my phone.
“You son of a bitch,” Marcus snarled, pivoting his weapon back toward Richard with lethal intent, his finger whitening on the trigger. “I’ll kill you right here before—”
Before Marcus could fire, a deafening flashbang grenade arched over the top of the tactical van, landing directly in the center of the frozen grass path.
BANG!
A blinding flash of white magnesium light tore through the morning gloom, accompanied by a concussive shockwave that shattered the remaining windows of the Maybach and dropped Marcus and his men to their knees, clutching their ears in absolute agony.
Through the thick smoke, heavy boots pounded against the turf.
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“Federal Bureau of Investigation! Drop your weapons! Down on the ground, now!”
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