Chapter 11 - The Kitchen Counter
The two plainclothes operatives moved with terrifying speed, pushing past the stunned federal marshals before anyone could draw a weapon. One of them lunged forward, grabbing Clara by the wrist to wrench the micro-SD card from her fingers.
Tariq reacted instantly, tackling the operative around the waist and sending both of them crashing hard against the side of the black town car. The metal door dented with a loud thud, and the operative grunted, swinging a heavy elbow back that caught Tariq squarely across the jaw.
"Get away from her!" Tariq shouted, ignoring the sharp pain as he grappled with the man on the pavement.
The second operative drew a compact sidearm, leveling the barrel directly at Tariq's chest. "Drop the card, old woman, or I put a bullet through his heart right now."
Clara froze, her breath catching in her throat. She looked down at the tiny micro-SD card resting in her palm, then up at the cold, calculating eyes of the gunman. The flashing red lights of the police cars painted the scene in harsh alternating strokes of crimson and azure.
Before the gunman could squeeze the trigger, a sharp crack echoed through the plaza. Special Prosecutor Eleanor Vance had drawn her service weapon with practiced precision, her aim locked squarely on the gunman's shoulder.
"Drop your weapon, federal agent! Drop it now or you'll face treason charges!" Eleanor commanded, her voice ringing with absolute authority.
The gunman hesitated, glancing from Eleanor's steady pistol to the arriving backup of uniformed marshals converging from all sides. With a curse, he lowered his sidearm, releasing his grip as three federal agents swarmed him and his partner, pinning them to the concrete.
Tariq scrambled to his feet, wiping a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth, and checked on Clara. "Are you alright?" he asked, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
"I'm fine, Tariq," Clara whispered, her hand still tightly clenched around the micro-SD card. She looked at Eleanor Vance, who was holstering her weapon with a grim expression.
"Those men weren't local police or bank security," Eleanor said, her voice grim. "They belong to a private intelligence contractor hired directly by the Vanguard Global Foundation. They knew you had the physical card the moment you mentioned it."
Clara nodded slowly, tucking the micro-SD card deep into the zippered lining of her knitted cardigan. "Which means my apartment has already been compromised."
"We can't go back there," Tariq agreed, wiping his knuckles. "If they know the card is back at your house, they're already tearing the place apart looking for your husband's pocket watch."
Eleanor opened the rear door of the town car, gesturing urgently for them to climb inside. "Get in. We're heading to a secure Department of Justice safehouse on the north side of the city. We have the data packet from the bank vault, and with that micro-SD card, we have the encryption key to unlock the master files."
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As Clara slid across the leather seat of the town car, closing the heavy door behind her, she glanced out the tinted window one last time. In the reflection of the glass, standing at the edge of the police tape across the plaza, she saw a familiar figure watching them leave. It was the tall man in the charcoal suit from the subway tunnel, holding a burner phone to his ear and smiling coldly as the car pulled away from the curb.
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