Chapter 73 - Frost and Fire
I ripped off my scarf, pressing it firmly against the laceration along Marcus's ribs. He groaned, his jaw clenching until the tendons in his neck stood out like cords, but he didn't cry out.
"Press down," I ordered, my clinical instincts overriding the terror clawing at my chest. "Keep direct pressure. I’m getting us to the extraction point."
I retrieved the transport cylinder and Marcus's backup sidearm from his shoulder holster, tucking the cold metal into my coat pocket. Wrapping Marcus’s left arm over my shoulder, I bore half his weight, dragging him along the slippery cobblestones of the river path toward the low bridge where Valerie had stationed our emergency vehicle.
A black Mercedes van glided silently out of the mist fifty yards ahead, its headlights cutting through the swirling snow.
My heart seized. I raised the sidearm, my frozen finger slipping against the trigger guard.
The driver’s side door flew open. Valerie stepped out, her trench coat whipping in the wind, a high-caliber rifle braced against her shoulder. "Sarah! Marcus! Get in!"
Two tactical operatives from our private security detail sprang from the rear doors, instantly moving forward to take Marcus's weight from my trembling arms. They lifted him into the back of the reinforced van while Valerie covered the perimeter.
"Hostiles?" Valerie demanded, scanning the rooftops and the bridge behind us.
"Behind us in the vault," I gasped, climbing into the cabin and pulling the door shut behind me. "Arthur Linwood is alive, Valerie. My father is alive. He orchestrated everything."
Valerie froze for a fraction of a second, her weathered, stoic face draining of color. But she shook it off instantly, slamming the driver's door and stomping on the accelerator. The heavy van surged forward, tires biting into the icy asphalt, vanishing into the maze of Zurich’s old town streets just as the first flashing blue lights of the city police sped across the bridge above us.
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In the back of the van, the paramedic cut Marcus’s shirt open, applying a rapid-clot sponge to the wound. Marcus looked up at me, his eyes clouded with pain but fiercely lucid.
"He said... the foundation was infected," Marcus whispered, gripping my wrist with iron fingers. "Sarah... the children."
