Chapter 16 - The Ambush on Bainbridge Ferry
We moved Leo into the back of Vance’s unmarked SUV, laying him across the bench seat with Gertrude sitting beside him, monitoring his saline drip.
The rain had intensified, drumming violently against the reinforced windshield as Vance steered the vehicle out of the Bremerton shipyard.
The quickest route to the Federal District Court in downtown Seattle was the Bainbridge Island ferry.
Driving around the Tacoma Narrows bridge would take two hours—two hours we did not have.
By six in the morning, the sky was a bleak, slate-gray wash of mist and churning seawater.
We pulled into the ferry lane, our vehicle idling between two towering lumber trucks.
The massive steel deck of the vessel shuddered beneath our tires as the ferry pulled out of the slip, churning the cold, black waters of Puget Sound.
I sat in the passenger seat, my fingers white against the encrypted flash drive in my pocket.
"How long until we dock in Seattle?" I asked Vance.
"Thirty-five minutes," she replied, her eyes constantly sweeping the side mirrors.
"The US Attorney is meeting us at the terminal with a specialized FBI tactical squad."
"The moment Julian Holloway steps off his private jet in Washington, they will take him down."
Suddenly, the ferry’s engine rumble changed tone.
A loud metallic screech echoed from the lower vehicle deck.
The overhead lights flickered, plunged into darkness, and were replaced by the dull amber glow of emergency beacons.
The giant ship began to slow in the middle of the sound, far from both shorelines.
"What’s happening?" Gertrude asked from the back, her hand instantly going to the medical kit.
Vance reached down, pulling her Glock from its holster and racking the slide with a clean, sharp snap.
"The ferry’s auxiliary power just tripped," Vance said, her voice dropping an octave.
"Someone engaged the manual marine emergency brake."
In the side mirror, two black Chevy Suburbans without license plates pulled up directly behind our SUV, completely blocking our rear bumper.
Four men dressed in private tactical gear, carrying suppressed carbines and tactical entry shields, stepped out into the rain-slicked deck.
They didn't wear police badges.
Their shoulder patches bore the silver double-helix crest of *Aethelgard Life Sciences*.
"They aren't waiting for the federal marshals," I whispered in sheer horror.
"Julian sent his private extraction contractors."
"Stay down! Both of you!" Vance commanded, kicking her door open and firing three rapid rounds through the Suburbans’ windshield.
The muffled thud of suppressed gunfire answered instantly, shattering our rear window into a web of crystallized safety glass.
Gertrude threw her entire body over Leo, shielding him with her own flesh as bullets punched through the upholstery.
"Reese, take the wheel!" Vance shouted, leaning out into the crossfire and dropping the lead tactical operative with two center-mass shots.
I lunged over the console, stomping my foot on the accelerator.
The heavy SUV roared to life, slamming into the commercial lumber truck in front of us, pushing the massive flatbed aside just enough to clear an escape lane.
Tires squealing on the wet metal deck, I threw the vehicle into reverse, ramming the second Suburban with bone-crushing force.
Airbags deployed in the enemy vehicle with a loud bang.
One of the contractors sprinted along our driver’s side, raising his carbine to point directly at my head through the side glass.
Before he could pull the trigger, Gertrude leaned out of the broken rear window, firing her snub-nosed revolver twice.
The man collapsed onto the iron deck with a choked gasp.
"Go! Go! Go!" Gertrude screamed over the sound of the storm.
I swung the steering wheel hard right, smashing through the safety chain barrier and pulling the SUV onto the open walkway near the bow.
The Seattle skyline loomed ahead through the sheets of torrential rain.
The ferry crew was blaring the emergency foghorns, civilian passengers screaming and running for the upper passenger decks.
The remaining two contractors were advancing down the narrow catwalk, their rifles raised.
"Reese, look out!" Vance shouted, throwing her empty magazine onto the floor and fumbling for a fresh reload.
One of the contractors aimed directly at the rear passenger door where Leo was lying.
He wasn't trying to capture Leo.
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Julian Holloway had issued a scorched-earth protocol.
If they couldn't harvest the boy’s marrow alive, they were going to destroy the evidence entirely.
