Part 44
The armored transport Marcus provided was a beast of a machine—a matte-black utility truck reinforced with ballistic glass and run-flat tires.
I tore out of the warehouse bay just as the five-minute loop on the surveillance cameras expired, the heavy engine roaring as we hit the open road.
Vanguard’s SUVs tried to intercept us near the highway on-ramp, but the heavy frame of the transport plowed right through their barricade, sending one of their vehicles spinning into a concrete divider in a shower of sparks.
By the time the sun had fully set, we were miles away from Baltimore, heading south toward a destination I had hoped I would never have to visit again.
I plugged the secured comms radio Marcus had given me into the dashboard, setting the frequency to the hidden sub-network of the Vanguard elite.
Instead of hiding, I was going to use their own communication channels against them.
Using the decryption tools on the transport's integrated tactical console, I initiated a massive, automated financial drain using the codes from the silver flash drive.
Within minutes, billions of dollars tied to Vanguard's shell companies began to vanish from international banks, rerouted into untraceable, locked escrow accounts across the globe.
It was a digital declaration of war.
The radio on the dashboard crackled to life, a heavy, distorted static filling the cabin of the truck before a calm, chillingly smooth voice broke through.
"You are playing a very dangerous game, Sarah," the voice said, using my real name—a name that hadn't been spoken aloud in nearly a decade.
The Architect.
"I'm not playing a game," I replied, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. "I'm executing a hostile takeover. You have exactly twelve hours to call off your hounds, or I wipe every single dollar your organization possesses."
A low, sinister chuckle echoed from the speaker, sending a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the truck's heater.
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"You think this is about money?" the Architect said softly. "The money is just a tool to control the pieces on the board. You and your daughter are nothing more than loose ends, Sarah. And loose ends are always burned."
"Then come and try to burn me," I snarled, slamming my hand down on the console, cutting off the transmission before he could attempt to trace the specific satellite signal.
