Chapter 8 - The Road to Manhattan
The drive across the Queensboro Bridge was a test of nerves. The police presence in the city was at an all-time high, with checkpoints established at every major crossing.
Hale drove the utility van with a calm precision that belied the fact that her face was currently displayed on every news channel as a wanted domestic terrorist.
"Mila," Nadia said, turning to her daughter who was sitting in the passenger seat, looking out at the rainy skyline of Manhattan. "We’re almost there. Just a little bit longer."
"Mom, look," Mila said, pointing at the screen of Nadia's phone, which was currently displaying a live press conference.
Victor Vance was standing in front of the Caldera headquarters, surrounded by microphones. He was expressing his "deep sorrow" for the victims of the JFK blast, while simultaneously praising the federal agencies for their "swift response in tracking down the rogue officers who attempted to destroy our city’s infrastructure."
"He thinks he’s won," Hale said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "He thinks the data was destroyed in the server room."
"He doesn't know we uploaded it to a secure federal server," Nadia said. "Marcus’s sister, Elena, has already unsealed the indictment. The moment we present the physical drive to verify the original file signatures, the FBI can execute the arrest warrants."
As they neared the exit of the bridge, a black SUV pulled out from a side street, ramming the side of the utility van with a sickening crunch of metal.
The van spun across the wet pavement, crashing into the concrete barrier of the exit ramp.
Nadia’s head struck the side window, her vision spinning into darkness for a brief second. When she opened her eyes, she saw the door of the van being torn open.
The man in the gray cap—his forehead bandaged and bloody from Nadia's strike in the server room—stood there. He reached inside, grabbed Mila by her arm, and dragged her out of the vehicle into the pouring rain.
"Nadia!" Mila screamed.
"Let her go!" Nadia roared, crawling over the shattered dashboard, but her leg was pinned beneath the crumpled steering column.
May you like
Hale tried to raise her weapon, but a second mercenary fired through the windshield, striking her shoulder. She collapsed back against the seat, her weapon slipping from her hand.
"The drive, Nadia," Miller said, holding a knife to Mila’s throat as the rain washed the blood from his face. "Or your daughter dies on this ramp."
