Chapter 15 - The Final Sovereign
The patrol car slammed broadside into the reinforced concrete barrier, the impact detonating the side curtain airbags in a cloud of white talcum powder. Clara's vision flashed blinding white as her seatbelt locked, bruising her ribs and knocking the breath from her chest.
Groaning through the ringing in her ears, Clara kicked the warped passenger door open with both feet. Cold ocean spray lashed across her face.
Miller slumped against the steering wheel, unconscious, blood pooling over his uniform shirt where the chisel remained embedded. Clara reached over, unsnapped his heavy tactical flashlight, and pulled the spare Glock 17 from his under-dash holster.
Across the gravel pier, men in dark jackets stepped out of the black SUVs, drawn by the sound of the crash. Standing in front of them, holding an umbrella against the spray, was Arthur Vance. Beside him, tied to a wooden shipping pallet with duct tape over her mouth, sat Elena.
""Clara!"" Arthur’s voice boomed over the wind, smooth and unimpressed. ""Drop the weapon, my dear. You've been remarkably resourceful, but this is the end of the board. Give me the access sequence Julian gave you, and I let Elena board a medical transport to Switzerland.""
Clara stood tall against the hood of the crushed cruiser, the sea wind tearing her hair free from its pins. The morning sun finally pierced the heavy Atlantic clouds, casting long golden shadows across the shipping yard.
She didn't aim the weapon at Arthur. She aimed it directly at the diesel generator powering the cargo freighter's fuel pumps twenty feet away.
""Julian didn't give me a sequence, Arthur,"" Clara called out, her voice ringing clear, devoid of fear, trembling, or submission. ""I found it myself three months ago. And I didn't send it to the Treasury.""
Arthur’s smile faltered for the first time. ""What did you do with it?""
Clara pulled out her cracked burner phone, holding her thumb over the touch screen. ""I published it to the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists. The automated timed release was set for six o'clock this morning. It went live three minutes ago.""
In the distance, across the bay, the synchronized wail of dozens of sirens began to rise against the morning sky—not local police cruisers, but the heavy tactical sirens of the state National Guard and federal anti-corruption strike teams converging on the harbor.
May you like
Arthur’s phone began to ring incessantly in his pocket. He stared at her, his face turning the same pale gray as the ocean.
Clara smiled through her bruised lips. ""No one will believe you over me."""
