Chapter 5 - The Convoy
Four unmarked black Chevrolet Suburbans flanked by two marked State Highway Patrol cruisers had sealed off the circular driveway. Behind them sat a prisoner transport van with tinted windows and the unmistakable seal of the United States Marshals Service emblazoned across its doors.
The iron gates behind them had not been buzzed open; the heavy steel latch had been forcibly decoupled, hanging askew from its concrete pillar.
Neighbors from across the manicured cul-de-sac emerged onto their manicured lawns, watching the tactical deployment with hushed, panicked murmurs.
Alaric froze on the front steps, his face draining of color. "What is the meaning of this? This is private property! Who authorized this intrusion?"
The doors of the center Suburban swung open simultaneously.
Four armed federal agents in tactical vests bearing the letters *CID* and *DOJ* exited with professional efficiency, taking positions around the perimeter. Then, from the passenger side of the lead cruiser, stepped a county sheriff's captain carrying an expandable portfolio.
Finally, the rear door of the flagship Suburban opened.
A man stepped onto the pristine aggregate concrete.
He wore the dark-blue Army service uniform of a field-grade officer. The three rows of service ribbons on his chest were crowned by the Special Forces tab, the Ranger tab, and the Bronze Star with Valor device. His polished black shoes hit the ground with the crisp authority of an absolute commander.
Alaric stared, squinting against the midday sun, his mind unable to reconcile the image before him.
"You..." Alaric stammered, stepping backward. "Thorne?"
Cressida and Morwenna hurried into the courtyard, drawn by Alaric's shouting.
"What is going on out here?" Morwenna demanded, clutching her cashmere cardigan around her shoulders. "Alaric, call the country club security immediately! Tell them—"
Her voice vanished mid-sentence.
Thorne did not look at Alaric, nor did he acknowledge Morwenna. He turned back toward the Suburban and extended a gloved hand.
I stepped out into the daylight.
The white surgical tape across my left temple and the rigid medical brace securing my jaw were impossible to hide, but I was no longer wearing a grease-stained cooking apron. I wore a tailored wool coat, my posture straight, my eyes level.
Cressida's jaw dropped. The cruel, superior sneer that had defined her face for thirty years cracked down the middle.
"Vesper?" Cressida gasped, her fingers digging unconsciously into the leather strap of her handbag. "What... what kind of circus is this? Why did you bring these people here?"
Thorne closed the vehicle door behind me. His voice sliced through the humid North Carolina air like a razor edge through dry paper.
"This is not a circus, Cressida," Thorne said, his tone chillingly level. "This is a federal and state crime scene investigation."
Alaric tried to muster his customary bluster, his neck reddening into mottled crimson. "Now listen here, you insolent boy! You vanish for years, leave my daughter to rot in poverty, and now you show up in costume on my driveway? Get these vehicles off my property before I have my son-in-law ruin you!"
May you like
"Your son-in-law," Thorne replied, stepping forward with Vance Bradley at his flank, "is currently handcuffed to an interrogation table in the federal courthouse downtown."
***
