Chapter 8 - THE SHOWDOWN AT THE DOCKS
Z
I pulled the safety pin from the heavy fire extinguisher, wedged my foot against the metal filing cabinet, and slammed the heavy cylinder into the gap with all the force I could muster.
The extinguisher ruptured upon impact, unleashing a blinding, deafening cloud of white chemical retardant directly into the faces of the two armed mercenaries standing in the dark basement hall.
Coughing and swearing violently, the men fired wildly into the cloud, their silenced bullets tearing through the drywall and shattering glass wine bottles on the shelves behind us.
"Go, Samuel! Now!" I screamed.
Samuel scrambled through the narrow gap, diving toward the small emergency exit hatch that led to the old coal chute in the garden. I grabbed the heavy leather briefcase, squeezed through behind him, and slammed the heavy iron latch shut from the outside just as the mercenaries realized what had happened.
We burst out into the pouring rain of the backyard, covered in dirt and soot. The night sky was pitch black, illuminated only by distant flashes of lightning.
"The marshals' car is disabled!" Samuel yelled over the sound of the thunder, pointing to the driveway where the federal vehicle sat with its tires slashed.
"Take my car!" I threw him my keys. "Get to the federal courthouse downtown! Deliver the briefcase directly to Agent Vance!"
"I'm not leaving you here, Elena!" Samuel protested.
"You have to!" I shouted, shoving the briefcase into his hands. "If Marcus gets those ledgers, Dad died for nothing! Get them to the FBI! I’ll draw them away!"
Before Samuel could argue further, I turned and sprinted toward Julian’s red sports car, which was still idling in the driveway with the driver's door unlocked. I leaped into the leather driver's seat, slammed the door, and shifted into reverse, roaring out of the estate driveway just as the mercenaries cleared the back garden.
I didn't head for the police station. I knew that with Marcus's vast resources and connections, a local precinct would be easily compromised or delayed. Instead, I remembered what Agent Vance had said on the phone: 'A private jet is scheduled to depart from a private airfield in Gary, Indiana, at midnight.'
I stepped on the gas, the powerful engine roaring as the sports car tore through the rain- slicked highway toward the industrial district near the lakefront.
I had thirty minutes before midnight.
Using the sports car's built-in cellular console, I dialed Agent Vance’s direct line again, keeping my eyes locked on the treacherous, water-logged highway.
"Agent Vance! I have lured Marcus's men away from the estate," I reported rapidly. "Samuel Price is en route to your downtown office with the primary ledgers!"
"Elena, where are you?!" Vance shouted over the radio chatter in his background. "We have a SWAT team surrounding Vance Manor right now!"
"I'm heading to the private hangar at the Gary Industrial Airfield," I said, taking a sharp turn onto the access road leading to the dark, industrial docks. "Marcus is going to try to board that plane. You need to block the runway!"
"Elena, listen to me! That airfield is controlled by a private security company owned by Marcus’s syndicate! It’s a fortress! Do not enter that perimeter alone!"
"I'm not letting him leave, Agent Vance," I said, my voice cold and unyielding. "He murdered my father."
I hung up the phone and smashed the console screen with my elbow.
Five minutes later, the towering metal fencing of the Gary Private Airfield appeared out of the fog. A sleek, black Gulfstream jet was idling on the wet tarmac, its engines whining loudly as ground crews made final pre-flight preparations.
At the base of the boarding stairs stood Marcus Vance, holding an umbrella, dressed in a long black trench coat, speaking urgently into a satellite phone. Beside him sat a silver metallic case filled with untraceable bearer bonds and offshore transaction codes.
I didn't stop at the security gate.
I shifted into high gear, ducked my head below the steering wheel, and slammed the sports car straight through the chain-link perimeter fence at sixty miles per hour.
The fence tore apart with a terrifying metallic screech. Sparks exploded into the night sky as the car crashed onto the tarmac, spinning twice on the slick concrete before coming to a halt less than fifty yards from the Gulfstream jet.
Marcus spun around, his satellite phone falling from his hand into a puddle as the car door swung open.
I stepped out into the pouring rain, soaked, bruised, and bleeding from a cut on my forehead, but holding Dad's secondary data drive high in my hand.
Marcus stared at me in complete disbelief, his pale eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sheer rage.
"You really are a relentless little pest, aren't you, Elena?" Marcus yelled over the roar of the jet engines.
"The FBI has the ledgers, Marcus!" I shouted back, stepping forward through the rain. "Samuel delivered them five minutes ago! Every account, every shell company, every bribe you've paid for forty years is currently popping up on federal monitors across Washington!"
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Marcus's face contorted into a mask of pure, demonic fury. He reached inside his trench coat and pulled out a heavy black pistol, pointing it directly at my head.
"Then you will die knowing you destroyed our family name!" Marcus screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
