Chapter 6 - The Lake Michigan Abyss
The dead click of the satellite phone hung in the heavy silence of the study like a falling guillotine blade. Four hours. That was all the time standing between my six-year-old twins and absolute, irreversible oblivion.
Prescott didn't wait for me to issue another command. He was already tapping furiously on his tactical tablet, routing encrypted coordinates to the three armored Ford F-550 tactical transport vehicles idling in the subterranean motor pool beneath the estate.
“The dock facility at Lake Michigan is locked down tighter than a federal bunker,” Prescott said, his face carved from granite as he looked up at me. “Even if we breach the surface gates, the primary research level is three hundred feet below the waterline. If they’ve locked down the life-support synchronization relays linked to Jonah and Blythe’s medical monitors, any forced cyber-entry will trigger an emergency thermal flush. They’ll incinerate the data—and the biological samples inside.”
“Then we don't hack it,” I said, stepping past him toward the hallway, the weight of the silver necklace resting like cold lead against my chest. “We use my master biometric clearance at the main hydraulic bulkhead. They want the key? I’ll hand it to them right between their eyes.”
Within ten minutes, our convoy tore through the iron gates of the Chicago estate, racing through the torrential midnight downpour toward the industrial shoreline. The rain battered the armored windshields in thick, gray sheets, blurring the skeletal crane structures of the old municipal harbor.
My mind raced back to Genevieve’s note. Trust Elena. She’s the only one who knows the key.
Where had Elena vanished to? If she had slipped out of the study while Prescott and I were dealing with the ICU breach, she hadn't run away. She had gone ahead of us.
“Prescott,” I barked over the encrypted vehicle comms as the convoy slid onto the concrete apron of the decommissioned research dock. “Run facial recognition and plate trackers on any secondary vehicles moving toward Sector Nine over the last twenty minutes. Elena’s gone. She didn't flee the property—she’s heading to the lake ahead of the Syndicate.”
“Already tracking local toll cameras, boss,” Prescott replied from the lead vehicle. “We’ve got visual. A beat-up gray Ford sedan passed the North Pier checkpoint three minutes before our convoy cleared the gates. And she’s not alone. Someone else was driving.”
My grip on my Sig tightened until my knuckles turned white. “Who?”
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“Can’t get a clear look at the driver through the rain, boss,” Prescott’s voice came back, tight with warning. “But the car’s registered to a shell corporation tied directly to Apex Global Solutions.”
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