Chapter 9 - MIDNIGHT BREAKTHROUGH
Z
The chase through the downtown district felt like an eternity, though my dashboard clock showed only four minutes had passed. I wove through afternoon traffic, forcing Sheriff Davies to match my aggressive maneuvers. The blue lights reflected wildly off the storefront glass as three additional local police cruisers joined the pursuit.
They believed they had me cornered. They thought I was a desperate fugitive fleeing with the stolen evidence.
As I approached the intersection near 4th Street, I cut the wheel sharply to the right, bouncing over the curb and slamming my truck into the empty parking lot of Grace Baptist Church. I spun the steering wheel, bringing the truck to a sliding halt right in front of the rear wooden sanctuary doors.
Within seconds, four police cruisers boxed my truck in from all sides. Doors slammed open, and shouting voices echoed across the asphalt as officers drew their weapons, taking positions behind their car doors.
"Step out of the vehicle with your hands up!" Sheriff Davies screamed through his megaphone. "Do it now, Rick!"
I slowly opened the driver-side door, raised my hands high into the air, and stepped out onto the pavement. I kept my face calm, completely unbothered by the five gun barrels trained on my chest.
Davies stepped forward, his heavy leather belt creaking under his weight, a triumphant sneer on his face. He pulled heavy steel handcuffs from his belt.
"You made a massive mistake getting involved in things that don't concern you, schoolmaster," Davies growled, grabbing my wrist and slamming me face-first against the side of my truck.
"Check the truck!" Davies ordered his deputies. "Find the green case!"
Two officers rushed forward, tearing open the passenger door and ripping through the interior of my truck. They pulled up the seats, checked beneath the floor mats, and opened the glove compartment.
"It's empty, Sheriff," one officer called out, looking confused. "There's nothing in here except some old tools."
Davies' face darkened instantly. He shoved me harder against the hot metal of the hood. "Where is it? Where are the papers?"
Before I could answer, a loud engine rumble echoed from behind the church building.
A silver sedan tore into the lot from the rear alleyway. The passenger door swung open, and Thomas leaned out, holding the heavy green waterproof case high in the air where every officer could see it.
Behind the wheel of the silver sedan was a woman with sharp brown hair and a dark suit—Agent Sarah Miller from the State Attorney General's Special Investigations Unit.
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"Sheriff Davies! Stand down immediately!" Agent Miller shouted through a loudspeaker mounted to her dashboard. "State Police units are currently executing a federal warrant on the Vance Estate and entering your precinct office!"
Davies froze, his face draining of all color. He looked from me to Thomas, then to the three state trooper cruisers that pulled into the lot behind Agent Miller, their red and blue lights washing over the pavement.
