“Will you be able to use any of that information in court?” Erika asked as soon as Nick hung up. “It can’t be legal to hack their database like that.”
Nick’s eyes were rock hard. “I don’t plan on giving Mr. Drake his day in court. Neither should you if he sent those two killers today.”
She said nothing, her expression mirroring Nick’s stony visage.
“Maybe we’ll find out how those two guys knew we were at Joe’s,” Parker said as a terrible thought flashed into his head. “You don’t think they have us bugged, do you?”
“I’ve had a sweeping device activated since you sat in this car. It hasn’t found anything, and it’s a damn good one, so you’re clean.”
“Then how did they know where to find us?”
“My guess is they either found the police report from your uncle’s murder or searched property records. Think about it. Whoever is doing this knows you’re with Erika. They stake out her apartment and her office in case you go there. She has no relatives in the city to worry about. You, however,” Nick said, pointing at Parker, “are the proud owner of an apartment in Rittenhouse. Any idiot with half a brain could find it and send a stakeout team.”
Parker smacked the dashboard. “I never even considered that. So you think they were waiting for us?”
“I think you two dodged a bullet. You have to be more careful until we figure out what’s going on, which is why I’m taking you to my place for the time being. No one knows you’re with me, so you should be safe there.”
Ahead, the towering walls of the Eastern State Penitentiary loomed over the road.
Parker shared a glance with Erika. What did they have to lose?
“Where do you—”
Parker’s skull slammed off the window. Glass shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as his head filled with a roaring pain. Erika shrieked from the backseat as they slammed into a row of parked cars that lined the street. A small convertible in front of them was pushed aside. Parker didn’t understand why Nick was hammering the gas.
It was only when he realized the roar in his ears was coming from a massive Suburban behind them that he knew this was no accident. Nick twisted the wheel, fighting to regain control. “Hang on. They’re trying to crush us!”
Nick was right. The massive black vehicle was still pushing, tires squealing on the roadway as Nick’s much smaller sedan was pushed toward the thick stone walls ahead. He was standing on the brake pedal to no avail.
Three rapid blasts filled the car. Parker’s ears rang, and he turned with a sense of dread, expecting to find Erika bleeding in the rear seat.
Instead, she was twisted around to face their attackers, gun in hand, firing rapidly. The rear window had shattered, and several spider web cracks blossomed on the Suburban’s windshield.
As he watched, a gun appeared from the Suburban’s passenger window. “Get down,” Parker shouted, just as the muzzle flashed twice.
One rear window shattered. Fortunately, no one was hit.
“I can’t stop,” Nick yelled. “That thing’s too big.”
Nick was struggling with the wheel in one hand, his pistol in the other.
“Parker, follow me.”
“Where?” They were all stuck in this car. There was nowhere to go.
Nick ignored his shouted question. Through the gunshots, he could barely make out the next words.
“Bring Erika.”
The sedan’s engine roared as Nick let off the brake and punched the gas. As he did so, the gear shifter was slammed into reverse. Now pushing back, the mangled sedan was able to put up a fight and their inevitable progress to the unforgiving stone wall slowed.
Nick immediately twisted the wheel sharply to his left. With the engine screaming, Nick’s sedan shifted so that the Suburban’s front end scraped across their passenger side, Parker’s face only inches from the screeching metal.
Without the sedan pushing back, the black vehicle behind them shot forward and slammed into the prison walls. Parker turned to see Nick dive out of his door, hitting the sidewalk in a barrel roll.
“Come on.”
Parker grabbed Erika’s shoulder just as her magazine ran out of bullets. They followed Nick out onto the sidewalk and crouched behind the battered sedan for cover.
“You guys all right?” Nick asked, back against his ruined car.
They each nodded.
“I think I hit the driver.” Erika ducked her head under the car, looking for feet. “Right before we got out.”
“That’s why he’s still gunning the engine.”
A tremendous roar came from the wrecked Suburban as it continued to push against the massive stone wall.
“Two of them just got out. Both on the far side.”
As she spoke, the engine cut off, deafening silence filling the void. Parker shook his head to clear the ringing from Erika’s shots inside the government car.
His voice a whisper, Nick motioned to the stone wall on their right. “I’ll go that way. You two head left, sweep around their rear. If you have a shot, take it.”
Parker took the lead, Erika trailing behind. “Stay behind me and keep your head down.”
Erika could be reckless, but she wasn’t stupid. Parker had been shooting his entire life and had a much better chance of hitting their target.
Crouched low, Parker darted from behind Nick’s bullet-riddled car onto the road, keeping the smashed-up convertible between himself and the Suburban. Two kids on skateboards who had been inspecting the vehicular carnage saw his gun and bolted, their wheels skimming across the sidewalk at high speed.
Fortunately, those were the only other people Parker saw. The last thing they needed was some nosy neighbor catching a stray bullet in the chest.
It was hot outside, and beads of sweat slid down Parker’s face, his chin a foot from the sticky asphalt. Shallow breaths filled his chest as he strained to catch any sound of their assailants, a soft footstep or kicked pebble. He could sense Erika mirroring his moves, directly behind him.
There.
A barely audible scraping reached his ears. It came from the car to his left, parked in front of the convertible they were using for cover.
One hand went up, and Erika froze. He pointed in the direction of the sound and then motioned for her to stay put. On all fours, he spotted two feet moving on the street, about to round the front end of the car.
Arms steady on the ground, Parker fired two shots.
Blood poured from a shattered wingtip. A scream filled the air, and the injured man fell forward, torso coming into view. As he fell, Parker was shocked to see the gun still grasped in one hand. Before he could react, the man fired.
A searing hot pain ripped through Parker’s right hand. Sticky red fluid oozed from the gash that appeared below his knuckles, and the pistol in his grasp clattered to the ground. Reacting on pure instinct, Parker dove toward the falling man, desperate to cover Erika and to close the distance.
When the suited man slammed onto the hot roadway, his gun jarred loose, clattering on the ground out of reach. Before the guy could move, Parker slammed a shoulder into his chest with a fury born of fear and white-hot anger. Momentum carried him head over heels, latched onto his quarry with a vise-like grip.
“Get out of the way!” He heard Erika’s shrieking voice, but wasn’t about to disengage. The guy was thick with muscle, and one hand grabbed for Parker’s throat, seeking his windpipe.
His palm shot up and knocked the guy’s arm away.
Damn, that stung. The guy’s arm was like a pipe. Time to fight dirty. He glanced down to confirm which foot had been shot. It was the right one, which he’d been aiming for. Before he could kick at the bleeding appendage, a fist like concrete slammed into his already woozy skull and brought the ringing noise back.
Parker’s neck twisted with the blow. His hands slipped, and the suited man fell from his grasp. The man jumped to his feet. Unfortunately for him, one of them now had a bullet lodged in it and wa
s useless. He fell to his knees with a cry of pain.
A gun blast ripped through the air, and Parker heard the supersonic whistle of a bullet whiz between them. Erika’s face was ashen as he glared at her, the pistol in her grip smoking.
The guy in the suit didn’t stop to look, instead diving at Parker. That backfired, however, when Parker’s fist slammed into his stomach, doubling the man over. Knees flexed, Parker shoved the man, keeping a tight grip on his shirt.
Half afraid Erika was going to fill them both with lead, he drove the helpless man into a parked car. With a sickening thud, the back of his skull cracked against the trunk, skin ripping open on contact. He was out cold and slumped to the ground.
Lungs heaving for air, Parker heard two rapid shots. Using the unconscious man for cover, he twisted his neck and saw Nick standing on the sidewalk, a gun in both hands.
Before he could blink, an engine roared behind him. Tires screeched, and a scream of pure terror ripped his chest apart.
In slow motion, he saw a door open on a second black Suburban that had just arrived. One hand reached out to Erika, who couldn’t get her gun around fast enough. A sharp burst of blue light flashed on her neck, and her body instantly went limp. The man inside hauled her unresisting form into the vehicle, which shot down the street and disappeared from view.
Erika was gone.
Chapter 45
Boston, Massachusetts
On every floor of Aldrich Securities, pandemonium reigned.
Phones rang nonstop, petrified traders desperately trying to salvage any modicum of profitability from their over-leveraged portfolios. Other investors, men who had risked everything based on Aldrich personnel’s advice, were in a panic, suddenly faced with losing billions. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, and no one had any answers.
No one, that is, but Spencer Drake. He knew exactly what was happening, because he had orchestrated the entire fiasco. Today was the culmination of two centuries of work, a final jeweled dagger from His Majesty George III to the infernal peasants responsible for Great Britain’s fall from power.
Ensconced within the opulent confines of Drake’s office, Nigel Stirling raised a glass to the television they both faced. On screen, one of the talking heads speculated wildly as to why OPEC was injecting such a massive amount of oil into the world economy.
Drake’s phone had not stopped ringing for hours, and he’d spoken with the panicked CEO’s of Merrill Lynch and Goldman Sachs. Each man was on the verge of a breakdown, alternately berating Drake for encouraging their reckless investing or plotting how to avoid the coming fallout. It was a testament to their hypocritical, self-serving nature that these supposed leaders were already searching for a way to avoid taking responsibility for their actions.
However, such was the state of America. Personal responsibility was a myth. When things went wrong, blame someone else.
Those bastards deserved everything they got.
“Well done, Spencer. This is more than I could have ever hoped for.”
Despite himself, Drake’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners. He and Nigel had done some projections, and it appeared that Goldman Sachs and JP Morgan would be bankrupt barring a bailout. Merrill Lynch was teetering on the brink, and Drake had little doubt they would soon fall as well.
All told, losses were projected to exceed two trillion dollars.
“It’s not over yet. We still have to contain those two in Philadelphia.”
“Any word from Mr. Becker?” Nigel asked.
“No,” Spencer said just as his cell phone began to vibrate silently, “but here is Secretary Webster right now.”
He connected the call, Gerard Webster’s smooth voice filling the air.
“Mr. Secretary, good morning.”
“I trust you have seen the news. This is most distressing.”
Webster had been kept apprised of every step in the process. He knew exactly what was happening, and was going to play a vital role in the coming hours.
“I agree. In fact, I’m quite worried about the solvency of America’s financial institutions if they have in fact overextended themselves in the recent oil speculation.”
“A valid concern, Mr. Drake. As I’ve stated time and again, the American government will not come to the rescue of any business again. The United States is the beacon of capitalism, and in that economic model, the strong survive.”
The irony was not lost on Drake. “I understand, Mr. Secretary. A hard decision, but a necessary one.”
“Indeed. I apologize, Mr. Drake, but I have matters that require my attention. Specifically, the drafting of a speech addressing that very subject. I have a strong suspicion my views on the issue of a bailout will need to be made crystal clear in the near future.”
The line went dead, and Nigel Stirling coughed out a throaty chuckle.
“A remarkably similar viewpoint to the one expressed by Chancellor Moore.”
Several hours ago, Drake and Stirling had spoken with Chancellor of the Exchequer Colin Moore, the final member of their organization. His support of Secretary Webster’s refusal to bail out any floundering institutions would be the American economy’s death blow. Any financial institution that had invested too heavily in the oil futures Drake had recommended was on its own.
Oh, the beauty of capitalism.
This thought warmed Drake’s heart more than the dram of whiskey he sipped on in celebration. Aldrich Securities was on the verge of ruin and he couldn’t be more excited.
If it weren’t for the couple in Philadelphia, there would be no stopping them. Even so, those two had little chance of surviving the day, and if by some miracle they were breathing come nightfall, Drake doubted they had any type of incriminating evidence.
In his pocket, a cell phone vibrated silently. His heartbeat accelerated when he saw Tom Becker’s number flash on.
“Tell me you’ve handled the problem.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What?”
Across the room, Stirling caught the tone of Drake’s voice and froze.
“Three of our team members are down,” Becker stated in a clipped tone. “Chase and Carr were with an unknown male who assisted them in repelling our assault.”
“Are they still alive?”
“Affirmative, sir. However, we do have Dr. Carr in our possession.”
“You kidnapped her?”
“That’s correct, sir. Shall I dispose of our guest?”
Drake’s mind raced, seeking some way to turn this disaster to his advantage. The very last thing he needed right now was to have the police digging around his offices. If the cops knew where to look, they could find dots that, once connected, would paint the entire picture of his plot in bright colors.
“No, don’t kill her. She’s more useful to us alive.”
Nigel spit amber whiskey all over Drake’s authentic Persian rug.
As he spoke, a plan took shape. Drake could use Erika Carr, use her to silence Parker Chase and their mysterious companion forever.
“What should we do with her, sir?”
“How many of your team members are alive?”
“Two of us. We’re leaving Philadelphia now.”
“Come back to Boston. I’ll have a car ready for you at the airport.”
Becker and his team had flown to Philadelphia on Drake’s private jet. Barring complications, Becker could be at Drake’s compound outside of Boston in under three hours.
“Understood, sir.”
Stirling was staring at him, mouth agape. “Spencer, tell me this is a terrible misunderstanding.”
When he didn’t respond, Nigel began yelling.
“Do you have any idea what could happen to us?! We’re on the verge of destroying the United States’ economy, which we’ve been working on for two hundred years, and you’re engaging in kidnapping?”
“Trust me, Nigel, I won’t jeopardize the operation.” As Spencer explained the idea blooming in his mind, Stirling’s
face gradually regained its color.
Five minutes later, he moved back to the bar and poured a new drink.
“I believe that we may yet celebrate our success today. And bid a permanent adieu to Dr. Carr and Mr. Chase.”
Chapter 46
On the fourth floor of a nondescript office building in downtown Philadelphia, people ran about, shoes clicking sharply on the tiled floor. Phones rang constantly, demanding attention. However, inside one corner office, a man sat on a worn couch, his gaze drifting far beyond the confines of those four walls.
Parker Chase had barely moved since arriving at Nick’s office. Over and over, the image of Erika being grabbed from the street ran through his mind, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness sapping his remaining energy. The contained chaos unfolding outside Nick’s door never caught his eye.
A fresh bandage encircled his right hand, the bullet wound having been treated by an Agency physician. Parker had been lucky. It was only a flesh wound.
Cold coffee grasped in his good hand, Parker fought an urge to race from the room and stage a solo assault on Aldrich Securities. Getting himself killed would accomplish nothing except to guarantee Erika followed him to the grave. Slouched on the rock-hard government couch, the sense of despair that had settled on his shoulders was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
Plastic blinds smacked on the office door as Nick’s massive frame burst through.
“We have some of our best in-house techs working on Aldrich’s database. With Craig’s password they should be able to hack the mainframe shortly. Problem is, once we get in, there’s no telling what kind of additional security Drake has installed on his personal computer.”
Nick’s voice brought him back to reality. “So how long will it take?” They needed to find Erika before Drake killed her.
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