Chapter 12 - Breach of the Safehouse
“They’re at the door!” Sarah hissed, her voice laced with panic as the heavy metal deadbolt clicked and turned under professional lock-picking tools.
“Through the back utility exit—move!” Dr. Morris commanded, shoving open the laundry room window that led out onto the building’s external fire escape.
I scrambled through the window just as the front door of the safehouse splintered inward with a deafening crash. Heavy footsteps thundered into the living room, accompanied by gruff, authoritative shouts: *‘FBI! Federal warrant! Secure the premises!’*
We raced down the metal staircase of the fire escape, the cold wind whipping our hair as we hit the alleyway just as two armed men in tactical gear rounded the corner from the opposite end.
“Stop right there! Federal agents!” one of them shouted, raising a sidearm.
“Don’t listen to them! They’re not real agents—look at their patches!” Marcus Vance’s voice bellowed from the shadows of a parked delivery van. The side doors slid open with a screech, and Marcus yanked us inside just as a volley of suppressed gunfire pinged off the metal side of the van.
“Step on it, Marcus!” I screamed as Marcus slammed his foot on the accelerator, tearing out of the alleyway and narrowly clipping a dumpster in the process.
We sped through the maze of Chicago backstreets, tires squealing around corners until the sirens faded into the distance. Inside the dimly lit van, breathing heavily, I clutched the secure flash drive against my chest like a lifeline.
“That was too close,” Marcus muttered, checking his rearview mirror as he navigated toward the interstate. “Margaret’s reach inside the federal bureau goes deeper than we thought. She has corrupted agents working straight out of the Chicago field office.”
“If the local federal office is compromised,” Dr. Morris said, wiping sweat from her forehead, “who can we trust to hand the master backup to?”
“No one in Chicago,” I replied coldly, staring out the window at the flashing neon billboards blurring past in the rain. “We’re taking this straight to Washington.”
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Marcus glanced back at me through the rearview mirror, a grim, respectful smile touching his lips. “Pack your bags for the capital, Clara. We’re about to go hunting at the very top of the food chain.”
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