Chapter 11 - The Ride into Hell
The rusted engine of Marcus’s modified delivery van roared as Clara flung herself through the sliding side door. Marcus slammed the accelerator, tires smoking on the wet asphalt as they burst out of the hotel’s subterranean loading dock.
Two security cruisers gave chase, their high beams blazing in the side mirrors.
"Hold on!" Marcus shouted, wrenching the steering wheel hard to the left. The van whipped into a tight industrial alleyway, clipping a row of metal dumpsters that crashed into the path of the first pursuing cruiser. The security car swerved violently, smashing into a brick pillar.
The second vehicle stayed on their bumper.
Marcus reached beside his seat and hit a switch wired directly into the van's auxiliary battery. "EMP pulse coil. Only got one charge, fifty-foot radius."
"Wait until we hit the bridge underpass," Clara ordered, leaning through the front console, her eyes tracking the rearview mirror. "Now!"
Marcus flipped the cover and mashed the red button. A high-pitched whine ripped through the van’s dashboard, followed by a dull thump. Behind them, the pursuing SUV's headlights went dead, its engine stalled instantly, and it skidded helplessly into the rain-slicked curb.
The delivery van sputtered, its radio dying, but Marcus’s diesel engine kept chugging along.
Clara sat back against the metal wall, breathing heavily. She opened an emergency first aid kit and poured antiseptic directly over the bullet graze on her shoulder, biting down hard on her sleeve to stifle the scream.
"You're running on fumes, Clara," Marcus said quietly, glancing at her through the mirror. "You can't storm Vance Tower like this. It’s suicide."
"My son is in that building, Marcus," she said, her voice dropping into cold, absolute certainty. "Arthur will move him to an overseas compound by sunrise once he realizes Victoria failed. Tonight is the only night he will ever be within my reach."
Marcus looked at her pale, determined face, then reached into the glove compartment. He tossed a heavy, matte-black key fob onto her lap.
May you like
"What's this?" Clara asked.
"Nathan Cross didn't buy that Lexus by himself," Marcus said grimly. "His personal driver owes me twenty thousand in gambling debts. That fob opens the private executive elevator in Vance Tower’s sub-basement. But once you go up... there's no coming down the same way."
