Chapter 8 - Whispers in the Glass Tower
The high-speed chase tore through the deserted streets of downtown Chicago,
the tires of both armored vehicles spraying clouds of freezing mist into the night air.
Viktor’s driver swerved wildly around sharp corners,
running red lights and clipping parked cars in a desperate attempt to break line of sight.
Inside his sedan,
Gideon kept his eyes fixed on the red taillights ahead,
his hands gripping the leather steering wheel with iron force.
"Elena,"
Gideon spoke into his hands-free comms system,
"where is he heading?"
"He’s moving north toward his primary financial stronghold,"
Elena reported from the command center.
"The Apex Glass Tower on Michigan Avenue."
"He owns the top four floors,"
she added,
"it’s a fortified penthouse with private elevator access,
bulletproof glass,
and its own auxiliary power grid."
"Does he have men there?"
Gideon asked,
weaving past a slow-moving delivery truck.
"At least thirty heavily armed private security contractors,"
Elena warned.
"It’s a fortress,
Gideon."
"You can't breach that building without heavy military support."
"I don't need to breach the whole building,"
Gideon said coldly.
"I just need to cut off his escape."
Five minutes later,
Viktor’s limousine screeched to a halt beneath the covered glass canopy of the Apex Tower.
Gideon’s sedan slammed into the rear of the limousine just as Viktor was being pulled out by his guards.
The impact shattered the limousine’s rear trunk,
sending metal debris skittering across the polished granite driveway.
Viktor stumbled into the luxury glass lobby,
his guards firing a barrage of pistol rounds at Gideon’s windshield.
The heavy reinforced glass of Gideon’s sedan spiderwebbed under the barrage,
but held firm against the bullets.
Gideon opened his door,
using the frame as cover while returning fire with lethal precision.
Two guards fell in the lobby entrance,
their blood staining the white marble floors beneath the grand chandelier.
Viktor scrambled into the private express elevator,
swiping an encrypted gold access key card before the heavy brass doors slid shut.
Gideon sprinted into the lobby,
stopping in front of the digital indicator screen above the elevator shaft.
The glowing red numbers counted up rapidly:
10... 20... 30... 40... 45.
"He's on the forty-fifth floor,"
Gideon muttered,
wiping rain and blood from his forehead.
Lucas and four tactical operatives burst into the lobby behind him,
their boots loud against the marble.
"Boss,"
Lucas breathed heavily,
"we locked down the main lobby and secured the basement service entrances."
"He’s trapped up top,"
Lucas said.
"Not trapped,"
Gideon said,
looking up at the elevator shaft.
"Viktor always has a backup plan."
"Elena,"
Gideon radioed,
"check the rooftop helipad status for Apex Tower."
A brief pause followed on the radio line before Elena’s voice returned,
laced with urgency.
"Gideon! A dual-engine Eurocopter just spun up its rotors on the roof!"
"It landed five minutes ago under a fake flight plan!"
"He’s planning to fly out of the state!"
"Set charges on the elevator cables,"
Gideon commanded Lucas instantly.
"We take the emergency stairwell."
Gideon led his men up the narrow concrete stairs,
taking three steps at a time despite the burning exhaustion in his legs.
By the time they reached the forty-fourth floor landing,
the sound of whirring helicopter blades vibrated through the heavy concrete walls.
Gideon kicked open the fire door,
stepping into the ultra-modern,
minimalist penthouse of Viktor Vance.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the storm-swept Chicago skyline and the dark,
churning waters of Lake Michigan below.
Standing near the glass sliding door leading to the helipad was Damian Vane,
his shoulder bandaged,
holding an assault rifle with his remaining good arm.
Behind him,
out on the wind-swept roof,
Viktor Vance was ducking beneath the spinning helicopter blades,
clutching a silver aluminum briefcase.
"This ends here,
Crosswell!"
Damian shouted,
raising his rifle to spray the living room with gunfire.
Gideon didn't flinch.
He ducked behind a heavy black leather sofa,
drawing his secondary sidearm.
Lucas stepped around the doorway,
firing a burst from his submachine gun that struck Damian squarely in the chest.
Damian staggered backward,
crashing through the heavy double-pane glass sliding door and collapsing onto the rain-soaked helipad outside.
Gideon stepped out onto the roof,
the freezing wind whipping his wet hair into his eyes.
The helicopter was beginning to lift off,
its skids hovering two feet above the wet concrete pad.
Viktor was standing on the open side runner,
looking down at Gideon with a triumphant,
hateful glare.
"You're too late,
Gideon!"
Viktor screamed over the deafening roar of the jet engine.
"You destroyed my labs,
you killed my men,
but I still have the master security key!"
"I will rebuild my empire in Miami,
and you will spend the rest of your pathetic life mourning your dead daughter!"
Viktor reached out to pull the helicopter door shut.
Gideon reached into his trench coat pocket.
He didn't draw a gun.
Instead,
he pulled out a small,
black remote detonation device with a single glowing red switch.
Viktor’s eyes widened in sudden,
abject horror as he realized what Gideon was holding.
"Looking for the explosive charges your men installed under my estate earlier tonight?"
Gideon called out,
his voice carrying clearly over the wind.
"Lucas found them twenty minutes ago."
May you like
"And we decided to return them to you."
Gideon flipped the red switch.
