Chapter 39 - THE CONVOY TO D.C.
Coughing up limestone dust and dragging themselves through three hundred yards of pitch-black drainage culverts, Daniel and his family finally tumbled out into the freezing November rain at the base of the Route 522 embankment.
Above them, the ridge where the quarry had stood was gone—swallowed into a massive, smoking sinkhole that looked like a bomb crater.
"Is... is he..." Emily collapsed onto her knees in the wet grass, sobbing uncontrollably, her arms wrapped around Lily, who was trembling violently against her chest.
Daniel didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was raw from smoke and tears he refused to let fall. He scrambled toward the concrete bridge underpass Arthur had specified. Hidden behind a wall of corrugated metal and tangled brush was the transport: a black, unmarked Chevrolet Suburban equipped with heavy police interceptor modifications, reinforced bumpers, and Virginia exempt plates.
Daniel reached under the rear wheel well, his fingers finding the magnetic key box.
"Get in! GET IN NOW!" Daniel shouted.
They piled into the vehicle. Daniel fired the powerful V8 engine. The dashboard illuminated—not with civilian dials, but with a full encrypted police scanner, tactical GPS, and a live satellite communications uplink.
"Look at the GPS," Nicole said, leaning forward from the back seat, pointing a shaking finger at the screen.
A pre-programmed destination was already pulsing in bright blue on the mapping software: **DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE — ROBERT F. KENNEDY BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.**
Beneath the coordinates was a text note left by Arthur before the raid:
*GRAND JURY ROOM 4B. SPECIAL PROSECUTOR WHITMORE CONVENES AT 05:00 AM. CROSS HAS ORDERED A TOTAL SEAL. YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO DELIVER THE BIOMETRIC EVIDENCE BEFORE THE RECORD IS EXPUNGED FOREVER.*
"It's 3:55 AM," Daniel said, slamming the transmission into drive and tearing out onto Route 522, tires screaming against the wet asphalt. "We have sixty-five miles to reach downtown D.C. through a statewide dragnet."
"Daniel, the police are looking for this vehicle," Emily said, her face pale as she watched the scanner screens scrolling with emergency alerts.
"They're looking for Daniel Bennett the fugitive," Daniel said, his knuckles turning white as he pushed the speedometer past ninety miles per hour onto Interstate 66 East. "They aren't expecting a ghost."
Suddenly, the dashboard radio crackled to life on an unlisted, secure frequency.
It wasn't Julian. Julian was buried beneath a million tons of stone.
May you like
It was a cold, aristocratic, terrifyingly calm voice that echoed through the vehicle's speakers.
*"Good morning, Daniel,"* Senator Evelyn Cross spoke smoothly. *"I must congratulate you on surviving the quarry. Arthur was always a stubborn old mule. But your journey ends at the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge. You have five minutes to pull over and surrender my granddaughter, or I will authorize the deployment of an aerial drone strike on Interstate 66. And you know very well the media will report it as a tragic fuel tanker explosion."*
