Chapter 13 - The Black Sedan
The judicial escape tunnel was a relic of the late nineteenth century—a damp, arched corridor running beneath the municipal district to an underground motor pool beneath the Federal Reserve annex.
Two tactical marshals led the way, their carbines held at low-ready, their flashlights slicing through the subterranean dust. Mark carried Toby, whose small head was tucked firmly under his father’s coat. Attorney Hayes walked alongside Judge Vance, discussing emergency witness protection protocols in hushed, urgent tones.
""We need to get them out of state before nightfall,"" Hayes insisted. ""If the cartel took Donald, they know Toby is the only living witness who can link Donald’s offshore accounts to the warehouse manifests.""
""I have a secure cabin in the Adirondacks,"" Judge Vance replied. ""Completely off-grid, deeded under a family trust that Donald doesn't know about. We put them in an unmarked vehicle and get them across the state line.""
They reached the heavy vault doors of the motor pool. The lead marshal entered the security override, and the hydraulic seals hissed open. The cavernous underground garage was silent, occupied only by a row of black government SUVs and municipal transport sedans.
""Vehicle Four,"" the marshal signaled, pointing toward an armored Suburban parked near the ramp leading up to the street exit. ""Let's move, double time.""
They were halfway across the concrete floor when the building’s primary exhaust ventilation fans suddenly groaned to a halt.
From behind the concrete pillars supporting the ceiling, four men dressed in nondescript civilian clothes stepped forward, semi-automatic rifles raised. But they weren't aiming at Mark or Toby.
They were aiming directly at Judge Vance.
From the shadows of the exit ramp, a familiar figure stepped into the flickering neon light. It wasn't Donald Vance.
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It was Marcus Croft, the prosecuting attorney, holding a burner phone in one hand and a suppressed pistol in the other.
""You really should have let the case go, Harrison,"" Croft said smoothly, his cultured courtroom voice completely stripped of warmth. ""A simple guilty verdict would have paid everyone's retirement. Now look at the mess you've made.""
