Chapter 5 - The Ambush on Route 95
The heavy armored SUV barreled off the asphalt, crashing through the wooden
guardrail with a deafening screech of ripping metal. Alexander threw his entire
body over Tommy, locking his arms around the boy like a human shield as the
vehicle plowed down a twenty-foot embankment through dense underbrush and
saplings.
Trees whipped against the reinforced glass, shattering the side mirrors before
the SUV slammed violently into the trunk of a massive oak tree, coming to a
bone-jarring halt tilted on its side.
Silence descended, broken only by the hiss of steam pouring from the ruptured
radiator and the heavy thrum of rain against the crushed roof.
"Tommy! Tommy, talk to me!" Alexander gasped, spitting blood from a cut on his
inside lip.
Tommy groaned beneath him, coughing against the dust from the deployed side
airbags. "I'm... I'm okay, Dad. My shoulder hurts, but I'm okay."
Alexander quickly checked the boy's limbs. No broken bones. He turned toward the
front seat. "Dominic! Are you conscious?"
Dominic pushed the deflated steering wheel airbag aside, his forehead bleeding
from a shallow laceration. "I'm alive. But that wasn't a random road hazard.
Julian’s strike team tracked our route via localized traffic sensor grids. They
deployed a directional EMP on the overpass."
Dominic kicked his driver-side door open against the mud, drawing his sidearm
and racking the slide with practiced efficiency. "We have less than sixty
seconds before their sweep team arrives to confirm the kill. We cannot stay in
this vehicle."
Alexander unbuckled Tommy and kicked the rear passenger door upward against
gravity. He climbed out into the freezing mud, pulling Tommy up into his arms,
while Dominic pulled an assault rifle and two tactical flashlights from the
concealed lockbox beneath the rear floorboard.
"Into the tree line," Dominic commanded quietly. "There’s an old logging trail
three hundred yards east. If we reach the secondary access road, we can
commandeer a civilian vehicle."
Alexander hoisted Tommy onto his hip, his designer shoes sinking deep into the
freezing mud as they plunged into the dark New England woods. The rain was
relentless, soaking through their clothing within seconds, chilling them to the
bone.
Behind them, at the top of the highway embankment, two sets of high-intensity
halogen headlights pierced the darkness. The low rumble of tactical diesel
engines idled above.
"Disperse and sweep the perimeter," a harsh, amplified voice commanded from the
highway. "Julian wants the boy alive for leverage, but Pierce and the ex-SAS
operative are kill-on-sight. Spread out!"
Heavy footsteps began crashing down through the brush behind them.
"Keep moving," Alexander whispered to Tommy, whose teeth were chattering
uncontrollably from the biting cold. "Stay silent, son. You are doing so brave."
"I won't make a sound, Dad," the boy whispered through shivering lips.
Dominic lagged twenty paces behind them, moving like a ghost through the
shadows. He suddenly stopped near the base of a wide pine tree, kneeling in the
wet moss.
"Alexander, take Tommy and keep running straight toward that clearing," Dominic
whispered coldly, pulling a smoke grenade and two flashbang canisters from his
vest. "I’m going to draw their primary fire."
"Dominic, no. We stay together," Alexander insisted, refusing to leave another
man behind.
"You have a son to save and a wife to rescue, Mr. Pierce," Dominic said, a rare,
fierce grin cutting across his rugged face in the darkness. "I’m paid to keep
you alive—and right now, this is how I earn my redemption. Run!"
Before Alexander could argue, Dominic fired three controlled bursts from his
rifle into the upper branches behind them, instantly drawing the mercenary
squad’s attention.
"Target acquired! South-southeast!" the pursuers shouted, immediately opening
fire with automatic weapons, the muzzle flashes illuminating the rain-drenched
forest in rhythmic strobes of deadly light.
Alexander turned and sprinted with every ounce of strength remaining in his
legs, shielding Tommy's head as bullets chewed through the bark of the trees
around them. Dominic’s counter-fire was ferocious, followed by the blinding
white flash and concussive roar of two flashbang grenades that disoriented the
advancing kill team.
Alexander broke through the dense thicket of pines, tumbling onto a narrow,
gravel logging road.
Parked beside an old, rusted timber trailer was an unlocked, mud-splattered 1998
Ford pickup truck with a local forestry company logo on the door. Alexander ran
to the driver’s side, wrenched the door open, and threw Tommy onto the bench
seat.
He dropped beneath the steering column, tearing away the plastic ignition
shroud. Using the sharp edge of the titanium key Catherine had left him,
Alexander stripped the ignition wires, crossing the red and brown leads until
the old V8 engine roared to life with a violent, rumbling cough.
Just as Alexander threw the truck into gear, the passenger door flew open.
Alexander raised his fist to strike—but stopped inches from Dominic’s face. The
security chief hauled himself into the cab, bleeding from a gunshot graze along
his left forearm, but clutching his weapon with steady determination.
"Told you I’d make it," Dominic grunted, slamming the door. "Floor it,
Alexander! They have two pursuit trucks mobilizing on the parallel access road!"
Alexander slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The heavy pickup truck
fishtailed wildly across the wet gravel before catching traction, rocketing down
the logging road toward the Maine state line.
Tommy sat wedged between them, his small hands clutching Catherine’s
leather-bound diary to his chest. "Dad... look. Something fell out of the back
cover when we crashed."
Alexander glanced down as Dominic took the wheel to let Alexander steer with his
hands free.
In Tommy’s trembling fingers was a small, high-density micro-SD card that had
been taped beneath the leather binding of Catherine’s personal journal, labeled
in red permanent ink:
PROJECT APEX: MASTER ARCHIVE & LIVE SURVEILLANCE FEED.
Alexander plugged the micro-SD card into his smartphone's encrypted expansion
slot. The screen flickered to life, bypassing the dead cellular network through
a direct satellite uplink stored on the card.
A live, grainy video feed populated the screen.
It showed the dark, stone interior of a subterranean room. Water was slowly
rising around the legs of a wooden chair bolted to the floor. Bound to the chair
was Catherine, her hair soaked, her face bruised but defiant, staring directly
into a camera mounted on the wall.
Standing behind her, holding a remote detonator and an open water-valve lever,
was a man in an expensive Italian suit with a coiled serpent tattoo visible
above his cuff.
May you like
Julian Vance leaned down toward Catherine's ear, smiling coldly into the camera
lens:
"You have four hours before the high tide fills this cellar completely,
Alexander. Bring the encryption codes to the lighthouse alone—or watch your wife
drown in real time."
