Chapter 12 - The Federal Sweep
The underground parking garage erupted into flashing crimson and blue tactical lights as three heavily armored federal response vehicles poured down the ramp, their tires screeching against the concrete. Armed tactical agents spilled out in a disciplined wedge formation, their rifles raised and laser sights painting the darkness.
"Federal agents! Drop your weapons and get on the ground right now!" the lead commander roared over a bullhorn, his voice deafening in the enclosed space.
The man holding Clara froze, his head whipping around in panic as the red laser dots converged directly on his chest. Cursing fiercely, he shoved Clara hard against the concrete pillar and bolted toward the back maintenance stairwell. Two tactical agents immediately pursued him, their boots pounding rhythmically against the floor before tackling the suspect to the ground with a dull thud.
Marcus scrambled up from the pavement, coughing slightly as he rubbed his bruised shoulder, before rushing over to Clara.
"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Marcus asked urgently, checking her arms for injuries.
"I'm fine, Marcus. Just bruised," Clara breathed, catching her breath as she hurried over to retrieve her silver beaded clutch from the hood of the car where the attacker had thrown it. She checked the clasp—thankfully, the contents inside were untouched. "We need to get to the Westport estate. Now. Before whoever set that fire destroys the rest of the archive."
Marcus nodded grimly, gesturing to one of the tactical unit commanders standing nearby.
"Get us an armored transport vehicle and a police escort to the Westport property immediately," Marcus ordered, flashing his federal credential badge. "The primary asset is under active arson attack."
Within two minutes, Clara and Marcus were strapped into the back of a heavy tactical transport van, the vehicle tearing out of the subterranean garage with sirens wailing and lights flashing, cutting through the midnight city traffic like a knife.
As they sped north toward the historic family estate, Clara stared out the reinforced glass window. In the distance, a massive plume of dark orange smoke billowed into the night sky, casting an apocalyptic glow across the horizon. The Westport estate—her grandmother’s sanctuary and the final repository of her family's true history—was burning.
When the armored van finally screeched to a halt at the wrought-iron gates of the estate, three fire engines were already pumping thousands of gallons of water toward the sprawling Victorian mansion. Flames licked greedily at the second-floor windows, illuminating the night like a monstrous bonfire.
Clara flung open the van door and stepped out into the biting night air, ignoring the shouting firefighters and billowing smoke as she stared up at the burning house.
"The library is in the east wing!" Clara shouted over the roar of the flames, turning to Marcus and the tactical team. "If the roof collapses, the safe in the grandfather clock is gone forever!"
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Without waiting for permission, Clara ducked under the yellow police tape and bolted straight toward the burning mansion entrance.
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