Chapter 5 - Two Hours to Midnight
The line went dead with a hollow click.
The silence that followed was heavier than the roar of the idling delivery truck. Sarah stood frozen, her hand pressed against her mouth to stifle another scream. The afternoon wind tore through her unbuttoned sweater, but she didn't seem to feel the cold.
"Four hundred thousand..." Sarah whispered, her voice trembling like a dry leaf. "Mark, we don't have four hundred dollars in checking. Our credit cards are maxed. My parents don't have that kind of money. Where are we supposed to get that in two hours?"
"We don't," Mark said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He spun around and grabbed Sarah’s arm, dragging her back down the street toward their house. "Run, Sarah. We don't have time to fall apart."
They sprinted the two blocks back to their home. Mark burst through the open front door, kicking it shut behind them and throwing the deadbolt. He bypassed the living room, where Lily's discarded stuffed animals still sat peacefully on the rug, and headed straight for the basement stairs.
"Mark, what are you doing?" Sarah called down into the gloom as he flicked on the single overhead bulb.
The basement was a graveyard of abandoned home renovation projects—drywall sheets, stacks of lumber, and rusted power tools. In the far corner, behind a stack of weathered plywood, stood a heavy steel gun safe bolted directly into the foundation concrete. Mark knelt down, his fingers flying across the electronic keypad: four digits, followed by the pound key. The mechanism clicked open with a heavy mechanical clunk.
Sarah reached the bottom of the stairs, her breath catching as she saw the interior of the safe.
There were no assault rifles or heaps of cash. Inside sat an olive-drab tactical vest, three boxes of 9mm ammunition, a matte-black Sig Sauer pistol, and a small, leather-bound black ledger from Mark's days working overseas security for private contracting firms before Lily was born.
"You told me you threw all that away," Sarah whispered, backing away a half-step. "When Lily was born, you swore you were done with that life."
"I was done," Mark said without looking back. He racked the slide of the pistol, checking the chamber before slapping a full magazine into the grip with practiced efficiency. "Until someone took my daughter. Julian Mercer doesn't want cash, Sarah. He knows I don't have four hundred grand. This isn't a ransom. It’s an execution trap."
Sarah’s eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Mercer ran logistics for the cartel out of the dry docks in Seattle before setting up here," Mark explained, strapping a spare holster inside the waistband of his jeans and slipping his work boots on over his bare feet. "He bought the bad debt on the commercial project for pennies on the dollar because he wanted leverage over me. He wants access to the security codes for the port customs depot where I used to work. If I show up with cash, he kills me and Lily anyway. If I give him the codes, he still kills us to tie up loose ends."
"Then what are we going to do?" Sarah’s voice broke into a desperate sob. "We can't just let them put her on a ship!"
"We aren't giving him codes, and we aren't giving him money," Mark said, pulling a dark hooded jacket over his clothes. He turned to Sarah, his face an unreadable mask of determination. "We're going to hit the dry docks before they expect us. But I need you to do something dangerous, Sarah."
"Anything," she said instantly, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. "Tell me."
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"Mercer's front company is a salvage yard near Pier 14," Mark said, handing her his spare cell phone. "You're going to call the city dispatch and report a major chemical spill at the adjacent warehouse. That will draw first responders and cordon off the escape routes. While they're distracted, I go in."
Sarah took the phone, her hands shaking, but before she could speak, a loud thump echoed from the main floor right above their heads. Heavy footsteps paced slowly across the living room oak. Someone was inside the house.
