Chapter 33 - The Ghost of St. Jude’s
Daniel waited until the point man stepped onto the slick boulder directly above their hiding shelf.
The operative was fully decked in matte-black carbon armor, a suppressed submachine gun slung across his chest, night-vision goggles glowing ghostly green against his helmet. As the man tilted his head down to scan the crevice, Daniel lunged upward from the shadows.
He caught the operative's tactical vest with his bare hand, wrenching the man violently off balance into the rushing water of the creek. Before the mercenary could scream into his comms unit, Daniel drove Julian's heavy steel barrel into the side of the man's jaw with sickening force.
The operative collapsed into the rapids with a muffled splash. Daniel snatched the man’s radio, tore off the earpiece, and shoved it into his own ear just in time to hear the dispatch chatter:
*"Bravo team, perimeter sealed. Highway 9 is closed. Local police have been routed away on a staged chemical spill alert. You have fifteen minutes before federal eyes re-align."*
Daniel didn't hesitate. He grabbed the operative’s waterproof key fob, dragged Mason out of the ravine, and scaled the slippery embankment toward the fire road. Parked beneath an overhang of weeping willows sat an unmarked, armor-plated black SUV with blacked-out rims and government-exempt plates.
Daniel threw Mason into the reinforced rear seat, locked the child safety latch, and slammed the engine start button. The twin-turbocharged V8 engine roared to life with a deep, predatory hum.
"Put your head down between your knees, buddy," Daniel said, slamming the transmission into drive and tearing out onto the winding mountain asphalt without headlights, using only the dash’s thermal night-vision screen.
"Daddy, where are we going?" Mason sobbed, curling into a ball on the leather seat. "I want my bed. I want Mommy."
"We're going to see an old friend of Mommy's," Daniel lied smoothly, his eyes scanning the thermal display as he tore down the mountain at eighty miles per hour. "Everything is going to be okay. Daddy is right here."
On the dashboard console, the mercenary’s hardwired phone began to vibrate.
The screen did not display a phone number. Instead, a high-resolution crest appeared—a silver falcon clutching a broken crown. Beneath it, a single text flashed in bold white lettering:
**[DIANE VANCE FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SPECIMEN DURING HER TRIAL CUSTODY ATTEMPT. THE DOG COLLAR WAS HER PATHETIC IMPROVISATION. FINISH THE RETRIEVAL AT ST. JUDE’S CEMETERY. THE VAULT WILL BE OPENED TONIGHT.]**
Daniel slammed his fist against the steering wheel until his knuckles bled.
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Vanessa and Diane had not just been sadistic, abusive sociopaths acting out of petty spite. The dog collar, the locked shed, the psychological torture—they had been trying to break Mason, searching for whatever Emily had surgically implanted inside him, all while working as disposable pawns for a shadow syndicate that had been hunting them from the very beginning.
***
