Chapter 4 - The Ambush
"Get down!" Miller roared, grabbing Whitney by her jacket collar and tackling her behind the thick trunk of the oak tree just as a hail of automatic gunfire shredded the wooden fence above them.
Wood splinters rained down like shrapnel.
Whitney pressed her back against the rough bark of the oak tree, clutching the orange USB drive tightly against her chest. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Is it David?" Whitney shouted over the roaring gunfire.
"It's his crew!" Miller yelled back, pulling his heavy service weapon from his holster and clicking off the safety. "Stay low! Do not move from this tree!"
Miller leaned out from behind the trunk, firing three controlled shots toward the side gate. A man in a dark tactical vest grunted, falling backward into the gravel, but two more armed men pushed through the splintered gate, advancing into the backyard with silenced submachine guns.
"Give us the drive, Miller!" a loud, arrogant voice called out from the driveway—a voice Whitney knew better than her own name.
David.
"It's over, David!" Miller shouted back. "The FBI has your Panama accounts! Federal marshals are surrounding this entire grid!"
"They aren't here yet!" David laughed, his voice laced with cold, desperate malice. "All I need is thirty seconds to take that drive and wipe the central server! Whitney! I know you're back there!"
Whitney felt a cold fury wash over her, suppressing her fear entirely. She peeked around the edge of the trunk.
Standing near the ruined gate was David. He looked leaner, darker, his hair cropped short, holding a heavy tactical rifle. Beside him, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket, holding a semi-automatic handgun with a shaking hand, was Gretchen.
"Whitney!" Gretchen screamed, her voice shrill and borderline hysterical. "Just give him the drive! You've ruined everything! You were always the golden child! You got the promotion! You got the nice house! You owed me this!"
"You beat my son!" Whitney roared back, her voice echoing across the yard with terrifying strength. "You put my six-year-old child in the ICU, Gretchen! You monster!"
"He wouldn't give me the drive!" Gretchen shrieked, her face twisting into a grotesque mask of rage. "He bit my hand! He was ruining our escape!"
David grabbed Gretchen’s arm, shoving her behind him. "Shut up, Gretchen! Cover the left flank!"
David stepped out into the open lawn, aiming his rifle directly at the oak tree. "Whitney, drop the drive and walk out! If you don't, I will put a bullet through Miller's head and take it off your corpse!"
Suddenly, the deafening roar of a helicopter turbine descended from the sky directly above the property.
Searchlights as powerful as miniature suns illuminated the entire backyard, blinding David and his crew in a dazzling sphere of white light.
"FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION! DROP YOUR WEAPONS IMMEDIATELY!" a voice boomed from a loudspeaker mounted on the black tactical chopper hovering above the trees.
Dozens of armored SWAT vehicles smashed through the front and side fences of the property, surrounding the yard in seconds. Heavy boots hit the grass, and red laser sights painted David’s chest with twenty lethal dots.
David dropped his rifle into the dirt, raising his hands slowly.
Gretchen screamed, dropping her gun and falling to her knees, sobbing hysterically as federal agents tackled her to the ground, pulling her arms behind her back in steel handcuffs.
Detective Miller stood up, holstering his weapon, and offered a hand to Whitney.
"It's over, Whitney," Miller said softly. "They're done."
May you like
Whitney stood up, ignoring the chaos, the flashing lights, and her ex-husband screaming as he was pinned to the grass. She looked down at the bright orange dinosaur drive in her hand, wiped the dirt from its surface, and turned toward Miller.
"Take me back to my son."
