Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT RESCUE
The temperature had dropped well below freezing by 1:30 AM. A light, powdery dusting of snow was beginning to swirl across the empty streets of downtown, coating the parked cars and turning the city into a silent, frozen ghost town.
Nolan’s black Maybach slid smoothly to a halt right in front of the closed florist shop on Main Street.
The gray blanket was still there, huddled against the brick wall. But it was far too still.
Nolan threw open the car door before the vehicle had even fully stopped, his long wool coat billowing behind him. He sprinted across the sidewalk, dropping to his knees beside the bundle of fabric.
“Maya? Millie?”
He pulled back the blanket.
The girls weren't under it. Instead, there was only a crumpled piece of lined notebook paper weighted down by a heavy stone, and the small black-and-white photograph Maya had been clutching earlier.
Nolan snatched the paper, holding it up to the yellow glow of the streetlamp. Written in shaky, frantic block letters were the words:
“They took our dad to the old rail yards on 9th Street. They said if he doesn't sign the papers, they’ll never let him see us again. Please help us.”
Nolan’s blood ran ice-cold. He flipped the paper over, but there was nothing else.
“Boss!” Marcus called out, jogging up from where the Maybach was parked, his breath pluming white in the freezing air. “I checked the subway entrance. Their coats and backpack are gone. Someone grabbed them.”
“Pendelton,” Nolan growled, standing up and crushing the note in his fist. “He didn't just take the father. He took the girls too, or they followed the car trying to find him.”
“The old rail yards on 9th Street,” Marcus said, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. “That’s an abandoned industrial zone. Federal property, heavily restricted, zero police patrols at this hour. It’s a slaughterhouse if we walk in blind.”
“We aren't walking in blind,” Nolan said, his slate-gray eyes burning with an intense, terrifying resolve. He reached into his coat and pulled out his encrypted satellite phone, dialing a direct, high-priority emergency number. “Connect me to the Chief of Federal Protective Services for the Northern District. Now.”
Marcus stared at him for a second, then nodded briskly, pulling out his own tactical radio to mobilize three vehicles of private security enforcement to follow them.
May you like
“Nolan,” Marcus warned quietly as they hurried back toward the Maybach. “If Pendelton is mixed up in this, we aren't just dealing with a standard kidnapping. We’re walking into a corporate trap.”
“Let him spring it,” Nolan said, sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. “Because tonight, Arthur Pendelton is about to find out what happens when you steal children from a father who has nothing left to lose.”
