Chapter 9: Splitting the Line
The cold dawn mist clung to the damp asphalt of the logging road as the Black Vultures assembled their motorcycles in absolute silence. No revving engines, no loud shouting—just the methodical click of buckles, the zip of leather jackets, and the quiet checking of sidearms. Thomas stood beside his chopper, briefing the senior captains on the diversion plan. Half the charter would roar north along Interstate 5 with their headlights blazing and colors proudly displayed, acting as a massive, unmistakable target designed to draw Victor Vance’s private enforcers off the Seattle waterfront.
Meanwhile, a battered, nondescript black Ford pickup truck sat idling quietly at the edge of the clearing. Lily climbed into the passenger seat, pulling her olive-green jacket tight against the morning chill. Thomas climbed into the driver's seat, sliding a heavy pump-action shotgun between the console and his seat before shifting the transmission into gear. The plan was risky, but it was their only chance to bypass the network of informants Victor had embedded across the state lines. As the convoy split into two distinct forces, the heavy tension in the air thickened into pure adrenaline.
"Hold on," Thomas muttered, glancing sideways at the young girl as he steered the truck down the steep, winding mountain road toward the interstate. Lily didn't answer verbally; she simply braced her boots against the floorboard and rested her right hand on her pocket, feeling the cold, rigid edges of the titanium flash drive and the silver wolf ring. She looked out the cracked window as the towering pine trees blurred into gray streaks against the overcast sky. Her mind was entirely focused on the man waiting in the Seattle penthouse—her uncle, the architect of her family's destruction.
Two hours into the drive, the landscape shifted from dense wilderness to sprawling industrial suburbs on the outskirts of Seattle. Roadside billboards and shipping warehouses marked the expanding territory of Victor Vance’s criminal syndicate. True to their word, reports crackled over the secure radio channel from the diversionary convoy down south: Victor’s private enforcers had taken the bait, abandoning their checkpoints along the port authority to intercept the roaring Vulture motorcycles on the interstate. The road ahead of Thomas's truck was clear, but the silence of the city felt heavier than any armed ambush.
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As they crossed the Seattle city limits, the towering silhouette of the corporate headquarters where Victor operated rose into the gray sky like a monolithic monolith of greed and corruption. Thomas gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his scarred face grim. "If we hit the waterfront docks now, we have twenty minutes before Victor realizes the interstate convoy was a decoy," Thomas warned, checking his side mirror. Lily turned her head slowly, looking out at the sprawling container ships and cranes along the foggy harbor. "Twenty minutes is all we need," she said quietly.
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