Chapter 5 - The Decoy
The rain began at 11:00 a.m. on the morning of the wedding.
It was a cold, driving rain that turned the grey concrete of the city into a slick, mirror-like surface. I sat in the driver's seat of the black Moretti estate sedan, my hands gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel.
I was wearing a high-collared black trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed my face, making me look like a high-end chauffeur from a distance.
In the passenger seat beside me sat the lead-lined box containing the active federal tracking device.
And taped to the underside of my front bumper was the tiny chemical tag—the infrared beacon that was currently screaming my coordinates to every satellite and sniper scope within five miles.
"Decoy is on the move," I said into the small earpiece Marcus had provided.
"Copy that, Clara," Marcus's voice crackled through the static. "We have the main convoy moving along the west highway. You have three minutes before you reach the Manhattan Bridge. Keep your speed steady at forty. If anyone approaches, do not stop."
"Understood," I said.
I pressed my foot down on the accelerator. The heavy, armored vehicle moved with a smooth, powerful growl, cutting through the grey mist of the rain-slicked streets.
Through the rearview mirror, I watched the city skyline recede.
I wasn't afraid. It was a strange realization, but as the steel arches of the bridge loomed ahead through the fog, I felt a deep, quiet calm. For thirty-six years, I had lived my life in the shadows, hiding behind other people’s designs, sewing their dreams while my own life remained a blank canvas.
Today, I was the driver. I was the one controlling the thread.
As the sedan reached the midpoint of the bridge, the steering wheel suddenly vibrated violently in my hands.
"Clara! Pull down!" Marcus’s voice screamed through the earpiece, no longer calm. "We have a lock! Two vehicles have bypassed our perimeter on the bridge! They are coming from the east lane!"
Through the driving rain, I saw them.
Two matte-black SUVs, their headlights dark, surged out of the mist behind me. They didn't have police sirens; they didn't have federal plates.
They were Marcone hitmen. And they had found the beacon.
The lead SUV accelerated, slamming into my rear bumper with a deafening metallic crunch that sent the heavy sedan fishtailing across the wet metal grating of the bridge.
I gripped the wheel, my knuckles turning white as I fought to keep the heavy vehicle from spinning out into the steel suspension cables.
"They're on me," I said, my voice remarkably calm as the adrenaline took over.
May you like
"Hold on, Clara!" Marcus yelled. "We’re sixty seconds out!"
"I don't have sixty seconds," I said, flooring the accelerator.
