Chapter 11
The heavy iron pipe whistled through the dusty air of the abandoned sawmill, slicing toward David with terrifying momentum. David threw his arms up in a frantic defensive cross, but the blow caught him square across the forearm with a sickening, hollow thud that echoed off the corrugated metal walls. He staggered backward, gasping for breath as he clutched his bruised arm, his face contorting in sudden, blinding pain.
The man in the gray hoodie scrambled to his feet, clutching the dripping laptop bag tightly against his chest, and turned to bolt toward the shattered loading bay at the rear of the mill.
“Federal agents! Stop right there or I will open fire!” the lead agent commanded loudly, stepping through the front doorway with her service pistol raised and locked firmly in a two-handed grip.
The fleeing man froze for a fraction of a second, glancing back at the weapon aimed squarely at his center mass. Instead of surrendering, he made a split-second, desperate calculation, hurling the heavy laptop bag directly at the agent’s face as a distraction before diving headfirst through the rotten plywood window of the loading bay.
The heavy bag struck the agent’s shoulder, knocking her aim slightly askew, and the subsequent gunshot went wide, punching a clean, smoking hole through the corrugated roof high above.
“Damn it!” the agent cursed, lowering her weapon slightly and rushing to the window, only to watch as the suspect scrambled down a steep muddy embankment toward the rushing creek below, splashing through the shallows with frantic strides.
Maya ignored the fleeing suspect entirely, rushing past the federal agent to where David was currently collapsing onto a stack of cedar planks, his face pale and slick with cold sweat.
“David! Are you alright?” Maya asked, dropping to her knees beside him and gently examining his bruised forearm, which was already swelling into a dark, ugly purple contusion beneath the sleeve of his purple polo shirt.
“I’m fine... just hit the bone,” David grunted, wincing as he tried to flex his fingers. He looked up at Maya, his eyes burning with frustration. “He got away. He took the primary drive with him.”
“He didn't take everything,” a calm, steady voice interrupted from the doorway.
The second federal agent stepped forward, holding up a small, waterproof flash drive that had fallen out of the stranger’s pocket during the initial scuffle near the band saw. The metal casing gleamed faintly in a shaft of morning light.
May you like
Maya looked at the flash drive, a cold, calculating resolve settling over her features. She stood up slowly, brushing sawdust from her black pants and adjusting her tan long-sleeve top.
“That’s an encrypted cold-storage backup,” Maya said quietly, her voice ringing with absolute certainty. “If we plug that into my mobile terminal, the decryption keys will automatically map every single shell account he used to funnel the family’s funds.”
