Chapter 11 - A Fortress on Pier 4
I brought the radio to my lips. "Report, Samuel. Did Miller secure her?"
"Commander Miller took Grace into the triage bay at Pier 4 twenty minutes ago," Vance said, his breathing shallow over the encrypted channel. "Her cardiac rhythm stabilized after they administered a high-dose atropine drip. But three minutes ago, a black tactical transport with Department of Homeland Security plates bypassed the civilian checkpoint at the Navy Yard gate. They have forged federal seizure warrants signed by a state supreme court judge."
"Homeland Security doesn't have jurisdiction inside an active naval reserve station," I snapped.
"They aren't feds, Gabriel," Vance replied grimly. "Miller knows it, and they know Miller knows it. There are eight armed men in unmarked plate carriers demanding access to the trauma room. Miller’s marines have their rifles at the low-ready, but if shots are fired on naval property, it triggers a federal lockdown. Hayes will control the perimeter within fifteen minutes."
"I’m coming up," I said.
I looked down at Arthur Pendelton. The old man was shivering violently, his eyes pleading.
"I cannot leave you down here, Arthur," I said. "Can you walk?"
"I haven't walked ten yards in a decade," he groaned. "Leave me. The iron ladder... I cannot climb it."
"You will climb it, or I will carry you," I said coldly. "Your granddaughter is fighting for her life three miles away, and your great-grandchildren are sitting in my library. If you want this family to survive the night, you move."
I hoisted Pendelton over my shoulder. He weighed no more than eighty pounds, his flesh wasted away by years of starvation and damp confinement. Every step up that vertical iron shaft sent agonizing bolts of pressure through my shoulders and thighs, but rage fueled my ascent.
When I cleared the opening into the library, Vance helped me heave Pendelton onto the Persian rug.
Maya stood up from the armchair. She stared at the withered, dirt-caked old man lying on the floor, then looked up at me with wide, searching eyes. She didn't scream. She didn't cower.
Slowly, she walked over, carrying the sleeping baby in her arms, and looked down at Pendelton's face.
"Grandpa?" she whispered.
Pendelton’s eyes filled with tears, his ruined fingers reaching out to lightly touch the hem of baby Leo’s blanket. "Maya... my sweet little bird..."
"Vance," I interrupted, cutting through the reunion with the brutal pragmatism the moment demanded. "Take the armored Suburban. Put Pendelton and the children in the concealed cargo bay. Drive straight to Pier 4."
"And you?" Vance asked.
May you like
"I’m not running from my own house," I said, racking the slide of the Glock. "They sent the transport to the Navy Yard as a distraction. Hayes wants me dead, and he wants this library open. They’re already outside."
***
