Chapter 9 - The Chase in the Dark
Elena didn't wait for the operatives to process the command. In a flash of raw tactical instinct, she slammed her heel down hard onto the metal base of the bedside table, kicking the heavy lamp directly into the legs of the trench-coat leader while simultaneously tackling Williams to the floor.
A burst of suppressed automatic gunfire tore through the air above them, shredding the motel curtains and embedding a ragged line of holes across the stucco wall where they had stood a second before.
"Move, move, move!" Elena yelled, scrambling on her hands and knees toward the open window.
Williams was right behind her, hauling himself over the wooden sill and dropping hard into the damp concrete alleyway below, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. Elena vaulted over the ledge immediately after him, landing in a rolling crouch that absorbed the impact.
"Which way did Clara go?" Williams demanded, drawing his weapon as the muffled sounds of shouting echoed from the motel room behind them.
"She went toward the service station," Elena said, her eyes scanning the deep shadows of the towering concrete retaining walls that flanked the narrow alley. "If Team Two cut her off, she's trapped between here and the highway."
They sprinted down the narrow corridor, their footsteps splashing through stagnant puddles of rainwater. The air smelled heavily of rusted metal and damp earth. Ahead, the alley opened up into a dimly lit service road running parallel to the highway, where a row of abandoned storage containers cast long, distorted shadows across the asphalt.
Suddenly, a muffled cry echoed from behind a rusted shipping container twenty yards ahead.
Elena raised her hand, signaling Williams to halt. They crept forward silently, hugging the corrugated metal wall of the container. Peering around the corner, Elena saw Clara pinned against the chain-link fence by a heavily armored operative in black tactical gear. The black travel bag lay discarded in the dirt near their feet, its zipper wide open, exposing the genuine leather-bound journal and the solid-state hard drive glinting under the amber streetlights.
The operative had his hand clamped roughly over Clara's mouth, his other hand drawing a heavy tactical knife from his belt.
"Don't move," Elena said, stepping around the corner of the container with her service pistol raised and locked squarely on the operative's chest.
The man froze, his knife hovering inches from Clara's throat. He slowly turned his head to look at Elena, a chillingly calm expression in his eyes. "You're too late, Agent Vance. Look up at the highway."
May you like
Elena glanced upward instinctively toward the elevated overpass running parallel to the service road. A sleek, unmarked black van was parked on the shoulder, its side doors sliding open to reveal two more armed men leveling heavy-duty assault rifles directly down at the alleyway.
---
