Chapter 15
The drive back to Blackwood Reach felt like a descent into the underworld. The familiar towering pines and freezing mist of the Oregon coast offered no comfort to Clara. They felt like prison bars.
Julian parked the SUV deep in the woods, a mile from the abandoned Hammond Lumber Mill. He unpacked a heavy, long-range sniper rifle from the trunk, assembling it with terrifying speed in the dark. He handed Clara an earpiece and a small, concealed microphone to tape under her shirt.
"Audio only," Julian said, checking the frequency on his tactical watch. "If I say drop, you hit the dirt instantly. Don't look around. Don't hesitate."
Clara nodded, her throat dry. She slipped the decrypted flash drive into her pocket.
She walked the remaining mile alone. The mill loomed out of the fog like a rotting wooden cathedral. The massive rusted saws and conveyor belts were silent, covered in years of moss and decay.
She stepped into the main clearing, the crunch of her boots echoing in the damp air. Four black SUVs were already parked near the loading dock. Headlights cut through the mist, blinding her.
"Finch!" Clara yelled into the empty space. "I'm here! I have the drive!"
Doors slammed. Men poured out of the vehicles, weapons raised. But they didn't shoot. The crowd parted, and two men walked forward.
Arlo Finch, looking exactly like the scrapyard rat he was, sneered at her. But it was the man next to him that made Clara's blood run cold. Marcus Vance. He wore a tailored suit that looked absurd in the muddy mill, his face a mask of arrogant superiority.
"Well, well," Marcus smiled, a chilling expression. "The little medic survived the collapse. Julian always did have a soft spot for strays. Where is he?"
"He's dead," Clara lied smoothly, keeping her hands visible. "He bled out in the tunnels under the city. It's just me. And I have what you want."
She pulled the flash drive from her pocket, holding it up in the harsh halogen light.
"Hand it over, sweetheart," Finch spat, taking a step forward. "And maybe we'll let you walk away."
"Not until you wire five hundred thousand to an offshore account," Clara demanded, playing the part of the desperate survivor.
May you like
Marcus laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound. "You misunderstand the dynamic here, Clara. You don't have leverage. You just delivered the only piece of evidence against me straight to my doorstep."
He nodded to his men. "Kill her."
