Chapter 11
Z
The mountain air was clean, but peace was a fragile luxury for someone who had spent twenty-five years in military intelligence.
Three weeks had passed since the raid in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The headlines across the nation were relentless. The downfall of the Vance political dynasty and the exposure of the Sovereign Group had sent shockwaves through Capitol Hill. Evelyn Vance sat in a federal holding cell awaiting trial without bail. Julian and Marcus were locked away in high-security facilities. Major Nathan Thomas had signed a full confession, stripping himself of his rank and freedom.
Maya and I had moved into a quiet, heavily secured coastal home outside of Wilmington, North Carolina. Her physical wounds were healing—the swelling around her eye had gone down, and her broken ribs were mending—but the psychological scars ran deep. She still jumped at the sound of heavy footsteps or unexpected phone rings.
It was 0600 hours when my encrypted satellite phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. I picked it up, watching the ocean waves crash against the shore outside the window.
"Colonel Vance," Director Vance’s voice came through, sounding weighed down by exhaustion. "I wish I were calling with good news."
I poured a cup of black coffee, my eyes narrowing as my tactical instincts sharpened. "What happened?"
"Arthur Pendelton was being transferred from a holding facility in Charlotte to the ADX Florence supermax prison in Colorado late last night," Director Vance said, his voice dropping. "The armed convoy was ambushed on Interstate 40. A highly coordinated hit squad used thermite charges, EMP pulse devices, and military-grade sniper fire. Three federal marshals are dead."
My hand tightened around the coffee mug. "And Pendelton?"
"He didn't escape, Sarah," Director Vance replied grimly. "They didn't break him out. They executed him. Left his body in the back of the transport van."
A cold stillness filled the room. Pendelton was the regional director of Sovereign Group. If someone went through the suicidal risk of attacking a federal prisoner transport just to kill him, it meant one thing: Pendelton was about to talk, and someone higher up the food chain was silencing every loose end.
"Who ordered the hit?" I asked coldly.
"We don't know yet, but there's a bigger problem," Director Vance continued. "Before Pendelton was executed, he hid an encrypted flash drive inside his shoe. Our forensics team recovered it. It contains a master hit list created by Sovereign Group's elite division—an umbrella syndicate known as 'The Board'."
"And who is on that list?"
"You, Sarah. And Maya."
I stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, watching the morning sun illuminate the calm Atlantic waters. "They think killing us will bury the investigation."
"They're desperate," Director Vance warned. "The fall of Apex Holdings frozen over two billion dollars in illegal land acquisitions along the East Coast. The Board is losing money by the hour, and they blame you. I'm dispatching a full protective detail to your Wilmington house right now."
"No," I snapped immediately. "A static protective detail just gives them a fixed target. If this syndicate operates with high-level military hardware, a few federal agents in suits outside my front door won't stop them. They'll just cause civilian casualties."
"Sarah, you can't fight an international syndicate alone from a coastal beach house!"
"I don't intend to stay at the beach house," I said smoothly. "Tell me about 'The Board'. Who controls the North American branch?"
Director Vance sighed heavily over the static line. "All financial routes trace back to a private investment firm in Manhattan called Sterling-Cross Global. The CEO is a woman named Victoria Cross. She's a former defense contractor with deep ties to the Pentagon and international intelligence agencies. She’s untouchable in Washington, Sarah."
"No one is untouchable," I said flatly. "Send me her complete dossier and active surveillance logs."
"Sarah, what are you going to do?"
"I spent my entire career defending targets," I replied, my voice turning to liquid ice. "Now I'm going hunting."
I ended the call and turned around. Maya was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a warm sweater, holding her cup of tea. She had heard enough to understand the reality of our situation.
She didn't cry. She didn't panic. She set her tea down on the table, walked over to me, and looked straight into my eyes.
"They're coming back, aren't they?" she asked softly.
"They're trying to," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders. "But I won't let them step foot near you."
"Mom," Maya said, her voice steady and resolute, showing the bloodline of a warrior. "Stop running. Stop hiding me in safehouses. Take them down for good."
May you like
I stared at my daughter, feeling an overwhelming surge of pride. The frightened girl in that hospital room was gone. In her place stood a woman who refused to live her life as prey.
"Pack your bags, Maya," I said with a tight nod. "We're going to New York."
