Chapter 11 - The Negotiator
Mark didn't move. He kept himself planted firmly between the treeline and Sarah, his Glock hidden against his thigh beneath the fold of his jacket.
""Vance,"" Mark spoke toward the dangling radio microphone.
""In the flesh, old friend,"" the voice of Director Vance purred through the static. ""You had a good run. Surviving the black site in Syria was impressive. But bringing the ledger home? That was sentimental. And sentimentality gets people killed.""
""Let them walk,"" Mark said evenly. ""Take the ledger. Take me. They don't know what's on the drive. They don't care.""
""Oh, but they do, Mark. Your lovely wife spent twelve months badgering congressional committees about your disappearance. She’s far too loud to leave behind. And the boy... well, genetics have a way of carrying grudges.""
Sarah’s grip on Mark’s arm tightened to a bruising clutch.
""I have the drive,"" Mark said, bluffing with every ounce of control he possessed. ""If my pulse stops without entering the cipher, the server in Zurich auto-publishes the entire archive to fifteen international news syndicates. You won't just lose your career, Vance. You’ll hang.""
A long silence settled over the speaker, broken only by the rhythmic thrum of the rain.
May you like
""A bluff,"" Vance finally said, but a microscopic tremor of doubt leaked into his tone. ""A dead man’s gambit. Bring them in.""
Across the clearing, red laser points flared to life from three separate points in the treeline, pinning Mark, Sarah, and Leo in a deadly triangle.
