Chapter 5 - The Siege of Chicago
"We aren't fighting our way out through thirty state troopers, Marcus," Grizzly said, checking his rifle magazine as the searchlights swept back and forth across the foyer walls. "Even if we survive, they'll paint us as terrorists on the morning news."
"We don't need to fight them, Grizzly," I replied, a dark smile touching my lips. "We just need to make enough noise that they can't hide what they're doing."
I turned to Sarah. "Where is the original hard drive containing Pendelton's illegal shipping manifests?"
Sarah reached into the lining of her heavy winter jacket, pulling out a small, steel-cased encrypted flash drive hanging from a chain around her neck. "I kept it on me. It has the bank routing numbers, the vessel registration numbers, and three years of wiretaps showing Pendelton paying off federal judges and regional police chiefs."
"Tech!" I called into the comms. "Can you patch us into a live broadcast feed?"
"Top, I can override the regional emergency broadcast system and push an uncompressed stream to every news station in Chicago, Indianapolis, and Milwaukee simultaneously," Tech reported. "Give me ninety seconds."
"Do it," I ordered.
I stepped up to the front window of the mansion, picking up a heavy bullhorn that one of the unconscious mercenaries had left on the hall table. I pushed the heavy wooden door open just six inches, placing the bullhorn against the opening.
"Captain Stern!" my voice boomed across the rain-soaked lawn, echoing through the trees and over the sound of the idling SWAT vehicles. "I know you're listening! And I know Arthur Pendelton promised you ten million dollars to make sure Sarah Jenkins died in this house tonight!"
Outside, the tactical officers paused, looking at each other in confusion. Captain Stern’s voice crackled frantically through his vehicle's external radio system. "Ignore him! He's a dangerous felon! Tactical team one, prepare to breach!"
"If you breach this door, Captain," I roared back, "the encrypted drive containing your personal offshore bank account numbers—along with the audio recording of you ordering the execution of a witness thirty minutes ago—will be broadcast live on every major news network in the Midwest in sixty seconds!"
Outside, absolute silence fell over the perimeter. Stern could be seen through the spotlight glow standing near his command vehicle, his face turning ghost-white.
"Tech! Push the audio stream now!" I commanded.
Over the public frequency of the police tactical radios—which every officer on the line was listening to—a crystal-clear recording began to play.
Stern's voice: "Make sure the woman doesn't make it out of the Blackwood house. Pendelton wants her clean. Frame it as a biker gang execution. I'll handle the press conference."
The SWAT officers on the lawn froze. Several of them turned around, looking directly at Captain Stern with expressions of shock and disgust.
"He lied to you!" I called out to the officers on the line. "You're being used as hitmen for a corporate criminal! Check your dispatch monitors! The FBI field office in Chicago has just been issued the master file!"
It was the ultimate bluff—Tech was still uploading the gigabytes of data to the Department of Justice servers—but the seeds of doubt were sown.
Inside the command van, two junior state troopers stepped toward Captain Stern, their hands on their holsters. Stern panicked. He drew his sidearm, aimed it at his own officers, shoved them aside, leaped into an unmarked sedan, and tore out of the driveway at full speed, abandoning his post.
"The captain is fleeing!" an officer yelled over the loudspeaker. "Hold your positions! Do not breach!"
Ten minutes later, the screeching of heavy tires announced the arrival of six black SUVs bearing federal plates. Federal Marshals and FBI agents from the Chicago Field Office poured out of the vehicles, disarming Pendelton's mercenaries and taking Captain Stern into custody three miles down the road after he crashed into a ditch.
A senior FBI Special Agent named Vance—no relation to me either, ironically—stepped onto the porch with his hands visible.
"Marcus Vance?" Agent Vance asked, looking at me with a mixture of awe and heavy exhaustion. "I'm Special Agent Thomas Vance, FBI. We just received the digital packet your technician uploaded. It's... staggering. Arthur Pendelton's entire network is being dismantled as we speak. Federal raids are currently happening at his estate in Michigan and his corporate headquarters in Chicago."
I stepped aside, bringing Sarah Jenkins forward. "This is Sarah Jenkins. She's the witness who sacrificed everything to stop him. And she wants her daughter back."
The agent nodded respectfully. "Mrs. Jenkins, we have an armored transport ready to take you directly to the Ghost Riders compound. You have the full protection of the United States Federal Government now."
Sarah looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears, and threw her arms around my neck, hugging me with a strength that shook her whole frame. "Thank you, Marcus... thank you for listening to my little girl."
"She saved herself," I said softly, patting her back. "She was brave enough to hand me that note. I just did what any old soldier ought to do."
May you like
As the sun finally broke through the storm clouds, painting the sky in shades of gold and amber, our motorcade of heavy motorcycles and federal SUVs rolled back down the gravel road toward the compound.
The war was over.
