Chapter 6 - The Pier at Midnight
The tunnel was long, damp, and echoed with the muffled concussions of explosions from the mansion above. Pamela ran through the darkness, the heavy burden of three thirteen-month-old children weighing down her tired muscles, but her grief-stricken body suddenly felt powered by iron will.
"Shh, my sweet angels," Pamela whispered as she stumbled down the concrete steps. "Mommy’s got you. Mommy’s never letting go."
Leo rested his head against her shoulder, his tiny fingers twirling a lock of her dark hair. For fourteen months she had been empty. Now her arms were full, and the weight was the lightest thing she had ever carried.
At the end of the tunnel, a heavy metal door gave way to the freezing wind of Lake Michigan. Rain slammed into her face as she stepped onto the wooden pier.
A high-powered cigarette boat bobbed in the dark water, its engine idling silently.
Donovan stood on the deck, extending a hand to pull her aboard. "Hurry, Miss Hayes! The federal perimeter is closing in!"
Pamela handed the babies to Donovan one by one, climbing onto the deck just as heavy footsteps echoed from the tunnel entrance behind them.
A tall man stepped out into the rain, wearing a long trench coat over a tailored suit. He held a high-powered pistol equipped with a silencer.
It was Richard Vance—the former FBI Chief.
"Fascinating," Vance sneered, his cold eyes sweeping over Pamela and the children. "The waitress actually turned out to have maternal instincts after all. I thought you were just cheap incubator stock, Pamela."
Pamela felt a wave of cold fury wash over her fear. "You stole my life. You killed my heart for a year."
"I created an asset," Vance corrected calmly, aiming the weapon directly at her chest. "Three genetically perfect children, raised in the lap of the Voss empire, ready to inherit a criminal enterprise and hand it over to the Department of Justice on a silver platter. Roman Voss was supposed to go to prison tonight, and those children were supposed to return to my private laboratory."
"They aren't assets!" Pamela screamed against the wind. "THEY ARE MY CHILDREN!"
"They belong to the state," Vance said, his finger tightening on the trigger. "And you, Miss Hayes... are a loose end."
PHHT!
A suppressed gunshots cracked through the storm.
Vance snapped backward, his weapon flying into the churning black lake water as a bullet tore through his shoulder. He fell to his knees on the pier, gasping in pain.
Behind him, emerging from the dark mouth of the tunnel, stood Roman Voss.
His charcoal suit was torn, stained with soot and drywall dust, but his eyes burned with apocalyptic fury. He stepped up to the kneeling FBI agent, his gun pressed directly against the back of Vance’s skull.
"You made three mistakes, Vance," Roman whispered into the rain.
Vance coughed up blood, glaring up at him. "You... you can't kill me... I'm a federal officer..."
"Mistake number one," Roman continued, ignoring him. "You came into my city."
"Mistake number two... you laid a hand on my children."
May you like
Roman clicked the hammer back.
"And mistake number three..." Roman glanced up at Pamela, his dark eyes softening for a fraction of a second. "...you made the mistake of thinking Pamela Hayes was just a waitress."
