Chapter 7 - The Third Man
The blinding glare came from a heavy-duty spotlight mounted on an unmarked SUV parked at the edge of our property line. The doors flew open, and three armed figures in federal tactical gear spilled out, their weapons drawn and trained directly on David and Miller.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation! Drop your weapons and get on the ground now!" a harsh voice bellowed through a megaphone.
David froze, lowering his pistol an inch, his eyes darting frantically between the federal agents and Miller. The syndicate operative smiled behind his visor, slowly lowering the brown paper envelope as if preparing to surrender to the authorities. But I knew better. Miller wasn't surrendering to the FBI; he was buying time for the extraction team.
"David!" I screamed, breaking cover from the boxwood hedge and running across the open lawn toward them.
David's head snapped toward me, his expression twisting into an agony of sheer terror. "Elena, get back! Get back to the boy!"
Before I could reach him, the lead federal agent stepped forward, but it wasn't an agent in uniform—it was Marcus. The man who had handed me the envelope in the kitchen was standing tall, wearing a crisp federal windbreaker over his dark shirt, his earlier wounds miraculously forgotten.
Marcus leveled his own service pistol not at Miller, not at the syndicate, but straight at David's chest.
"I'm sorry, old friend," Marcus said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "The protocol requires all loose ends to be tied off. Hand over the seal."
May you like
David let out a bitter, barking laugh, his eyes locking onto Marcus with venomous hatred. "You stupid bastard. You think Marcus was my only contact? The real ledger isn't in Zurich, Marcus. It's in the safe beneath my son's bedroom floor."
---
