Chapter 5 - The Face on the Screen
The phone buzzed again, a harsh, rhythmic vibration that cut sharply through the tense silence of the penthouse dining room. The federal agent paused, his hand hovering inches from Marcus’s wrist, his eyes shifting from the handcuffs to the glowing screen on the marble table.
"Answer it," the agent commanded, his voice laced with suspicion. "Put it on speaker."
Marcus didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on the illuminated display, where a single word flashed beneath the international country code: UNKNOWN. But it wasn't the anonymity of the number that made his breath catch in his throat; it was the customized ringtone—a haunting, two-note piano melody that he hadn't heard in over a decade. A melody known by only one other person in the entire world.
"I said, answer the phone, Mr. Vance," the agent repeated, stepping closer and gripping Marcus by the forearm.
Maya frowned for the first time since the ordeal began, her composure slipping slightly as she stared at the device. "Marcus, what is that ringtone? Whose number is that?"
"It shouldn't exist," Marcus whispered, a cold shiver running down his spine. "That phone is encrypted. No one outside of this room has this line."
With a trembling hand, Marcus reached down and swiped the screen, accepting the call and pressing the speaker button before dropping the device back onto the white tablecloth.
For three long seconds, there was only the sound of heavy, static-laced breathing on the other end of the line. Then, a voice spoke—distorted by a low-frequency digital filter, yet carrying a crisp, chilling familiarity that made Maya gasp aloud.
"Good evening, Marcus. And hello to you too, Maya," the voice said, smooth and dripping with cruel amusement. "I see you finally made it to the main event. But I am afraid your little federal welcoming party is about to be interrupted."
The lead agent snapped his head toward the phone, pulling out his radio. "Trace this call, now! Secure the perimeter—"
"Save your energy, Agent Vance," the voice interrupted smoothly, mocking the title. "There is no perimeter left to secure. Look out your window."
Marcus slowly turned his head away from the table, his eyes drawn inexorably toward the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the glittering Seattle skyline. Across the narrow street, on the observation deck of the adjacent corporate skyscraper, a single high-powered laser pointer flashed twice, illuminating the entire penthouse living room in a sharp, blinding crimson light.
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And right beneath the red beam, pressed against the glass of the opposing building, a digital countdown clock began to project massive, glowing red numbers directly onto the glass facade of Marcus's dining room: 00:03:59.
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