Chapter 14 - Julian’s Desperate Escape
But I had underestimated the sheer, terrifying reach of the Valetti crime syndicate, and the absolute desperation of a man who knew he was facing life in a federal penitentiary without parole.
At 2:15 a.m. on Tuesday morning—twenty-four hours after Judge Harrison had denied bail—my satellite phone vibrated violently on the desk of the coast house study. I snatched it up instantly, recognizing Detective Miller’s secure number on the display. Before I could even say hello, her voice came through the speaker, breathless, erratic, and filled with urgent static.
“Mr. Vance! Are you secure? Is the perimeter locked down?” Miller shouted over the background wail of police sirens.
“We’re secure, Detective. What happened?” I demanded, standing up from my chair as a cold knot of dread formed in my stomach.
“It was a coordinated ambush during the prison transport!” Miller yelled. “Ten minutes ago, the federal transport van transferring Julian and Thorne from the downtown precinct to the Metropolitan Detention Center was rammed by two heavy commercial tow trucks on the Interstate 95 viaduct! It was a professional hit-and-extract operation executed by Valetti operatives!”
My blood turned to ice. “Did they extract Julian?”
“They killed two federal marshals and breached the transport cage with thermal cutting gear, Mr. Vance!” Miller confirmed, her voice cracking with fury and panic. “Dr. Thorne was shot dead at the scene—the syndicate considered him a liability and silenced him. But they pulled Julian out alive and transferred him into an armored black utility vehicle heading northbound at high speed!”
“Why would the Valetti syndicate rescue the man who owes them four million dollars?” I asked, though even as the words left my mouth, the horrific realization dawned on me.
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“Because Julian is no use to them in a federal cell!” Miller explained grimly. “They didn't rescue him, Mr. Vance—they took him hostage! And Julian knows the exact GPS coordinates and the security layout of your cliffside safehouse! He’s leading them directly to you right now to force you to sign over the estate trust assets under duress! Lock down the house! We are scrambling a tactical SWAT helicopter, but we’re fifteen minutes away!”
The line went dead. I turned toward the window overlooking the dark, winding access road below our cliffside fortress. In the distance, cutting through the dense coastal fog, I could see the sweeping, high-intensity halogen headlights of three heavy vehicles tearing up the mountain road at breakneck speed.
