Chapter 7 - The Trap at the Conservatory
It was a crisp, clear Thursday afternoon in late January.
Maya’s private music lesson at the New England Conservatory had just finished. She walked down the grand stone steps of the building, holding her cello case, accompanied by Marcus, Harrison’s head of security.
The black Maybach was parked at the curb, idling softly.
"Miss Maya, please wait here while I open the trunk for your instrument," Marcus said respectfully, taking the heavy case from her hands.
As Marcus walked around to the rear of the vehicle, a delivery van pulled up sharply alongside the curb, blocking Marcus’s line of sight.
Before Maya could react, two men wearing dark masks burst from the side door of the van. One of them shoved a cloth soaked in a sweet, sickly chemical over her nose and mouth, while the other grabbed her waist, dragging her violently into the back of the vehicle.
Maya fought with everything she had, kicking her feet, trying to scream, but the sweet chemical filled her lungs, making her vision blur instantly.
"MARCUS!" she managed to gasp out before darkness swallowed her completely.
Marcus heard the muffled cry, dropped the cello case, and drew his weapon, sprinting around the Maybach—but the van’s doors slammed shut, and the vehicle tore away from the curb, running a red light and disappearing into Boston’s afternoon traffic.
Marcus immediately hit his comms button. "Code Red! Code Red! Maya has been taken! Black Ford transit van, license plate 4-VAL-92! Heading east toward the industrial docks!"
Inside his office on Beacon Hill, Harrison was reviewing quarterly reports when his phone let out a sharp, piercing alarm code reserved for immediate emergencies.
He answered instantly. "Talk to me."
"Boss, they took Maya," Marcus’s voice crackled through the speaker, tight with panic. "A snatch squad at the conservatory. They used a delivery van."
The glass mug in Harrison’s hand shattered as his grip tightened instinctively, hot coffee spilling across his desk.
His face turned to stone—a look of such absolute, terrifying savagery that Vance, standing across the room, immediately drew his tablet and began activating the emergency protocols.
"Activate every tracking unit in the city," Harrison commanded, his voice unnervingly quiet, dangerously calm. "Block every bridge out of Boston. Shut down the harbor. I want every man we own on the streets in five minutes."
"And Julian Sterling?" Vance asked.
May you like
Harrison stood up, pulling a black overcoat over his shoulders and reaching into his desk drawer for a sleek black Sig Sauer pistol.
"If so much as a single hair on my daughter's head is harmed," Harrison rasped, "there won't be enough left of Julian Sterling to put in a grave."
