Chapter 16 - AMBUSH AT MILE MARKER 9
"We have three hours," Mercer said over the encrypted vehicle link. He was speeding down Interstate 395 in an armored SUV, with Leah managing satellite surveillance from the rear. "The Senate Armed Services Committee convenes at ten. The prisoner transport carrying your father leaves Alexandria at eleven-thirty. If Sterling’s people strike during that transport, Charles is dead, and the narrative will be locked: Charles will be the lone rogue contractor, and your unit will remain branded as traitors."
"I have the archive access key," Rebecca said, steering her truck through the morning commuter traffic on Constitution Avenue. "Samir and I are hitting the Old Post Office vault in twenty minutes. Leah, can you jam the security feeds on the sub-basement levels?"
"Already inside their closed-circuit loop," Leah answered, fingers flying over her keyboard. "I’ve looped the feed for Vault 4-B. But Rebecca, you need to know: General Vance just called an emergency session with the Joint Chiefs. Two four-star generals are backing Sterling. The Pentagon is splitting down the middle. If you don't bring undeniable, un-redacted physical proof of the Cerberus protocols to the hearing, General Vance will be arrested for treason alongside you."
"We'll get the proof," Rebecca said.
Suddenly, a massive shudder ripped through the truck's chassis.
A heavy-duty municipal dump truck barreled out of an intersection from the blind side, smashing directly into the rear quarter-panel of Rebecca’s vehicle. Metal screamed as the truck was spun one hundred and eighty degrees, tires smoking violently against the asphalt before slamming into the concrete barrier of an overpass.
The airbags deployed with an explosive pop, filling the cab with white talcum smoke.
Rebecca’s vision blurred for a fraction of a second, her ears ringing violently. Beside her, Samir was groaning, blood dripping from a gash on his temple where his head had struck the side window.
"Samir! Move!" Rebecca shouted, kicking her crumpled door open with brute force.
Through the shattered windshield, she saw the dump truck had blocked the entire width of the avenue. Behind it, two black tactical vans screeched to a halt. Men in unmarked combat gear, carrying suppressed short-barreled rifles, poured out into the street, instantly raising their weapons.
Commuter cars began honking frantically, drivers abandoning their vehicles and screaming as the first burst of automatic fire shattered the morning air, chewing through the wreckage of Rebecca’s truck.
"Down!" Rebecca pulled Samir out of the passenger side just as a hail of 5.56mm rounds obliterated the dashboard.
They hit the pavement behind the concrete overpass barrier. Commuter traffic was completely gridlocked, innocent civilians running in terror through the crossfire.
"They aren't private contractors," Samir gasped, pressing a hand to his bleeding head. "Look at their movement patterns. That's a Tier-One black-ops kill team. They aren't trying to capture us, Rebecca. This is an extermination order."
Rebecca reached into the back of her ruined truck, pulling out a heavy duffel bag she had prepared before leaving Baltimore. She unzipped it, revealing an M4A1 carbine, three loaded magazines, and a tactical chest rig.
She strapped the rig on, racking the bolt of the carbine with a sharp, metallic *clack*. Her eyes were no longer those of a wounded daughter or a veteran seeking peace. They were the eyes of the Ghost Commander, the woman who had held off two hundred insurgents in the mountains of the Hindu Kush with nothing but grit and superior tactical geometry.
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"They brought a kill team to an urban corridor full of innocent people," Rebecca whispered, her voice chillingly calm amidst the roar of gunfire. "Let's remind them why this city’s monuments are named after soldiers, not politicians."
***
