Chapter 10 - The Transport Ambush
The armored personnel carrier rumbled heavily as it rolled past the iron gates of the Vance estate, its thick reinforced windows blocking out the gray, overcast light of the McLean morning. Inside the cramped, windowless metal compartment, Evelyn and Julian sat handcuffed to a bolted steel bench on opposite sides of the narrow aisle. Two armed guards sat near the rear doors, their assault rifles resting casually across their knees as they monitored the silent monitors mounted near the ceiling.
Julian kept his eyes fixed on Evelyn across the aisle, his expression tight with suppressed frustration. "We walked right into his hands," he whispered low enough that the guards couldn't easily catch every word. "Whitaker didn't just cover his tracks—he completely hijacked the Department of Defense chain of command while we were locked in that vault."
Evelyn closed her eyes for a brief moment, breathing in the stale, recycled air of the transport cabin. Her mind was racing, analyzing every variable, every movement of the vehicle, and every possible escape route along the Potomac corridor.
"He didn't hijack the chain of command, Julian," Evelyn replied softly, her voice barely a breath against the ambient roar of the diesel engine. "He used the Vance corporate wealth to buy off the oversight committee over the last ten years. Eleanor wasn't his partner; she was his primary financial laundering mechanism. When the foundation started to crumble under my audit, Whitaker had to step in directly to silence us both before the Senate committee hearings next Tuesday."
Across from them, one of the guards shifted uncomfortably, tapping his comms earpiece as a burst of static crackled through the secure channel.
"Command, this is Transport Unit Four. We have cleared the perimeter gates and are proceeding down Route 123 toward the holding facility. Over," the guard spoke into his shoulder mic.
A heavy, distorted voice crackled back through the static, sending a cold shiver down Evelyn's spine. “Negative, Unit Four. Divert immediately to the naval annex at Anacostia. Do not log the prisoners' arrival. Execute Protocol Nine upon arrival. Over.”
Both guards froze instantly. The lead guard exchanged a dark, knowing look with his partner before slowly reaching down to disengage the safety switches on their service rifles. Protocol Nine—in the unwritten lexicon of black-ops military intelligence—meant permanent disappearance without a paper trail.
Julian’s eyes snapped wide open. Without a single word of warning, he lunged across the narrow aisle with blinding speed, slamming his bound wrists directly into the throat of the nearest guard while simultaneously kicking hard against the locking mechanism of the rear cabin door.
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"Evelyn, catch!" Julian shouted, managing to slip a small lockpick tool he had hidden in his tuxedo cuff across the floor toward her boots just as the second guard raised his rifle to fire.
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