Chapter 8 - THE FORTRESSI grabbed Dr. Vance by his collar and threw him back into Room 1402 just as a storm of suppressed gunfire shattered the doorframe, sending wooden splinters and foam insulation flying through the air.
"Stay down!" I screamed over the deafening noise.
I leaned out from behind the door, fired two quick shots down the hallway to force them behind the elevator alcove, then pulled a heavy brass floor lamp from beside the bed and jammed it under the door handle, wedging it tight.
"Is there a fire escape?" I demanded, scanning the room.
Vance pointed wildly toward the curtained window at the back of the suite. "The balcony! It connects to the service ladder!"
I rushed to the window, threw open the heavy drapes, and unlocked the sliding glass door. Cold night air rushed into the room, smelling of rain and exhaust fumes.
Fourteen stories below, the city stretched out in a grid of golden lights.
"Go! Down the ladder!" I ordered, pushing Vance toward the iron ladder attached to the exterior brick wall.
"I can't!" Vance gasped, looking down at the drop. "I have acrophobia!"
"You'll have a bullet in your head in ten seconds if you don't start climbing!" I yelled, shoving his hand onto the cold iron rung. "Move!"
Terrified, the old engineer began to climb down.
Behind us, the heavy oak door of the hotel room groaned as the mercenaries began breaching it with a ram.
I stepped onto the narrow balcony ledge, cold wind whipping through my torn blouse and fluttering Judith's cashmere shawl around my arms. My back burned with a fierce, throbbing heat, every nerve ending screaming in protest against the physical strain.
I grabbed the iron ladder with my left hand, tucked the gun into my waistband, and began my descent.
Behind me, the hotel room door crashed open.
A mercenary stepped onto the balcony, aiming down at us.
"Hold your fire!" a voice barked from inside the room—Evan's voice, broadcast through a tactical headset. "I want that silver drive intact! Shoot her legs!"
Before the guard could align his sights, a heavy black sedan burst through the alleyway below, its horn blaring loudly.
Marcus.
He pulled the car directly beneath the lower fire escape platform, stopping right under the ladder.
"Jump!" Marcus yelled out the window, pointing to the roof of the car. "Jump now!"
We were on the third-floor landing—about twenty feet up.
Vance hesitated, frozen in fear on the iron platform.
I didn't give him a choice. I grabbed his coat and pulled him off the edge with me.
We crashed onto the roof of the sedan with a sickening metal dent, the impact knocking the breath out of my lungs. Pain flared across my shoulder like liquid fire, blinding me for a split second.
"Get in!" Marcus screamed, opening the side doors from the inside.
We scrambled off the roof and tumbled into the back seat just as bullets began pings against the trunk of the car.
Marcus slammed his foot on the accelerator. The sedan shot out of the narrow alley, clipping a plastic dump trash can before tearing out onto the main boulevard.
I lay on the floorboards of the back seat, gasping for air, clutching my shoulder as cold sweat poured down my face.
"Are you okay?" Marcus called back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
"I'm alive," I wheezed, sitting up slowly. "Where are we going?"
"You tell me," Marcus said. "The police have blocked off the downtown district. Mercer's team is securing the Naval Club, but your father's security force is setting up perimeter checks along the highway."
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I wiped a smear of dirt and blood from my cheek, looking out the window as the city lights began to give way to the dark, wooded hills of the affluent suburbs.
"We're going to the Harrington Estate in Cliffside," I said. "Where my father keeps his dirty secrets."
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