Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Machine
"He shouldn't have been able to trace this address," Daniel muttered, his hands flying across the console's touchscreen with frantic speed, trying to reroute the house's automated defense protocols. "The grid is encrypted through three offshore servers in Zurich. Unless..."
"Unless someone on the inside gave him the keys," I finished, stepping up beside him.
Daniel stopped typing. He looked at me, a dark realization dawning in his eyes. "There is no one else on the inside. It's just me. And now... you."
"Are you implying I tipped them off?" I snapped, crossing my arms defensively. "I spent the last six hours dodging bullets, freezing in an alley, and dragging your heavy, bleeding body across half of Boston! If I wanted you dead, I would have left you next to the grease traps!"
He studied my face for a long, agonizing second, then let out a slow, painful breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. Paranoia is an occupational hazard in my line of work."
Bang! Bang!
The heavy iron front gates of the brownstone shrieked as heavy explosives blew the locking mechanisms apart. On the security monitor, Vance’s enforcers swarmed into the front courtyard, their tactical boots crushing the manicured gravel.
"We have less than two minutes before they breach the reinforced glass," Daniel said, turning away from the console and grabbing a heavy iron fire poker from the hearth. It was a pathetic weapon against assault rifles, but it was all he had.
"There has to be a panic room or an escape tunnel," I said, looking around the minimalist living room. "Rich guys like you always have a bolt-hole."
"The safe room is on the lower level, behind the wine cellar," Daniel said grimly, shaking his head. "Iris and Lily—" He gestured toward the sleeping twins on the couch. "—won't survive a firefight in a confined concrete box if Vance uses thermite charges on the door. And he will."
"Then we don't hide," I said, a sudden, reckless surge of adrenaline overriding my terror.
Daniel stared at me, dumbfounded. "What did you just say?"
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"You heard me," I said, my voice steady. "Vance thinks you're trapped here with two babies and a bleeding wound. He’s expecting easy prey. But he doesn't know who I am. I grew up in foster systems where you learned how to disappear in plain sight. We use his arrogance against him."
Before Daniel could argue, the front windows of the brownstone shattered inward in a deafening crash of laminated glass and flying frames.
