Chapter 8 - The Counter-Trap
BOOM!
The shockwave rattled the concrete bunker like a localized earthquake. The wooden floorboards above us were instantly blown upward in a massive fireball of roaring orange flame and tearing timber.
Screams of shock and pain echoed through the burning structure above.
"GO! GO! GO!" I screamed, grabbing Bailey and shoving the heavy steel bunker door open.
The cabin living room was a inferno of black smoke, shattered furniture, and burning debris.
Marcus was lying on his back near the shattered entrance, his clothes caught on fire, screaming as he rolled across the porch to extinguish the flames. Two of his hired thugs were unconscious, knocked cold by the blast wave.
Jean was stumbling through the thick black smoke near the front doorway, coughing frantically, clutching her arm where a flying piece of timber had slashed her sleeve.
Through the haze of smoke, I saw Caleb.
He was sitting slumped against the kitchen counter, bleeding heavily from a wound in his shoulder, but he was alive! He held a heavy hunting knife in his left hand, his blue eyes burning with savage fury through the smoke.
"Harper! The truck!" Caleb coughed out, pointing toward the driveway through the flames.
I grabbed Caleb’s uninjured arm, hoisting his massive weight up with every ounce of strength I possessed. Bailey grabbed his belt, helping pull him forward.
Together, the three of us burst through the side door of the burning cabin into the cool mountain air.
Marcus’s lead SUV was still idling near the gate, its driver having abandoned the vehicle during the explosion.
"Get in!" Caleb barked, shoving me into the driver's seat while he collapsed into the passenger side, pulling Bailey into the rear bench.
I threw the heavy rig into gear, slammed my foot onto the gas pedal, and the heavy 4x4 roared forward, smashing through the burning remains of the wooden gate and barreling down the mountain road at seventy miles an hour.
In the rear-view mirror, I saw Jean standing on the dirt driveway, framed by the towering flames of the burning cabin, her face contorted into a terrifying mask of absolute, psychotic rage as she watched us vanish into the forest.
"Are you okay?" I gasped, looking at Caleb as blood soaked through his flannel shirt.
"I’ve had worse," Caleb grunted, pulling a emergency pressure bandage from his tactical vest and clamping it over his shoulder wound. "Where are we going?"
I looked at the dashboard clock. 11:40 AM.
Twenty minutes until David's dead-man's switch expired. But our jammer was gone—we were back in cellular range!
I pulled the grey USB drive from my pocket, plugged it into the truck’s onboard navigation and comms console, and tapped the screen.
"Connecting to satellite relay," the digital voice chimed. "File upload resumed. 85%... 90%... 95%..."
"Come on... come on..." I breathed.
DING.
A green confirmation checkmark flashed on the screen:
UPLOAD COMPLETE. RECIPIENT: UNITED STATES ATTORNEY'S OFFICE - DISTRICT 4.
Caleb let out a long, bloody laugh, leaning his head back against the headrest. "It’s done. The federal prosecutor has the files. A federal warrant is being issued right now."
"Not yet," I said, my eyes hardening as I looked at the road ahead leading back toward the city skyline. "The feds take hours to move. Jean still has David’s master trust keys stored on her private server at the Vance-Defense Financial Tower downtown. If she liquidates the offshore accounts before the federal marshals serve the freeze order, she vanishes forever with the money."
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"What are you saying, Harper?" Caleb asked, looking at me with shock.
"I'm saying we don't run anymore," I said, my voice dropping into an absolute register of vengeance. "We go to the bank. And we end this face-to-face."
