Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
The drive to the Chicago shipping canal was a blur of pure, terrifying speed. Mark drove his personal black pickup truck through the sleet-slicked streets, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth felt like they would shatter. Beside him, Detective Miller was on his radio, coordinating with the SWAT division and the harbor patrol.
But Sarah sat in the passenger seat, her face incredibly calm, her hands resting quietly in her lap.
She had found Clara’s pink hat on the porch, but Clara wasn't in the house. When Drago had breached the gate, Sarah’s motherly instincts had already anticipated the threat. She had sent Clara to stay with Captain Higgins' wife three hours earlier, knowing that the bungalow was no longer safe.
Drago had taken the hat from the yard, believing Clara was still inside, but he had missed his window. Clara was safe.
"He thinks he has our daughter, Mark," Sarah said, her voice low and steady. "He thinks he has the leverage. He’s going to be careless."
Mark reached over, his large, calloused hand wrapping securely around hers, squeezing it with a desperate, protective strength. "I am not letting you go in there alone, Sarah. The SWAT team is setting a perimeter, but Drago will be watching the entrances. We have to play this perfectly."
"I’m going in first," Sarah said, her gray eyes locking onto his. "He wants the witness. He wants to see me afraid. If he sees me, he won't look for the tactical team. I will draw him into the main bay, and you will close the trap."
"Sarah, it's too dangerous," Mark whispered, his chest heaving. "If anything happens to you—"
"Nothing is going to happen to me," Sarah said, leaning over to press her forehead against his. "Because you are the first one running toward us. You promised me that, Mark. And you’ve never broken a promise."
They arrived at Slip 3. The old grain elevator was a towering, rusted concrete monolith rising fourteen stories into the dark, stormy sky along the edge of the shipping canal. The wind howled through the shattered metal panels of the structure, making the entire building sound like it was groaning in pain.
The dock was quiet, the dark water of the canal lapping rhythmically against the wooden piers.
Mark checked his tactical vest, his hand gripping the heavy rescue axe he had taken from the truck. He looked at Detective Miller, who gave him a sharp, determined nod.
"We’re in position," Miller whispered. "Go."
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Sarah stepped out of the truck, her dark green sweater a sharp contrast to the white snow. She walked toward the yawning, dark entrance of the grain elevator, her steps steady, her heart full of an unbreakable, maternal strength.
She walked into the dark.
