The Extraction
Chapter 07 - The Extraction
The rain was falling in blinding sheets as Adrian’s car tore down the narrow suburban street where Clara’s hidden apartment complex was located.
He flipped the switch on Knox’s tracking jammer. A soft green light blinked on the dashboard, scrambling any radio or GPS signals within a hundred-yard radius.
Sure enough, parked under a dying streetlamp directly opposite Clara’s building, was a massive black Chevrolet Tahoe with dark tinted windows. The engine was idling, exhaust fumes rising into the freezing air.
Adrian didn't hesitate. He jammed his foot onto the accelerator.
His car roared forward, smashing straight into the front bumper of the Tahoe with a deafening crash of tearing metal and shattering glass. The SUV’s alarm blared violently into the night air.
Before the two heavyset men inside the Tahoe could recover from the violent impact, Adrian kicked his driver-side door open, pulled out the matte-black pistol, and racked the slide.
He rushed the driver’s side window, smashing the glass with the butt of the gun.
“Out! Get out of the car now!” Adrian screamed, his voice carrying an unhinged, dangerous energy that horrified the two hired thugs.
bound by shock and bleeding from the air-bag deployment, the driver scrambled out onto the wet asphalt, hands raised. The passenger reached into his jacket, but Adrian shoved the barrel of his gun directly through the shattered window, pressing it against the man’s forehead.
“Don’t,” Adrian growled, his eyes cold and lifeless. “Give me your phones. All of them.”
The passenger, shaking with sudden terror, slowly pulled two encrypted cellphones from his coat and dropped them into Adrian’s lap.
“Tell Marcus,” Adrian whispered, leaning close to the bleeding driver, “that if he sends another soul near my family, I won't hit his car next time. I’ll hit his home.”
Adrian turned and sprinted up the exterior stairs of the apartment complex, three steps at a time. He pounded on Clara’s door using a pre-arranged rhythmic knock.
The door opened instantly. Clara stood there, holding a baseball bat, tears streaming down her face. Behind her, sitting in the center of the living room floor wrapped in a warm blanket, was Caleb.
“Daddy!” Caleb squeaked, scrambling to his feet and running toward Adrian as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Adrian dropped the gun into his pocket, dropped to his knees, and caught the child in a desperate, tight embrace. He pulled the boy into his chest, smelling the clean baby shampoo, feeling the warm beat of Caleb’s heart against his own.
“I’m here, Caleb. Daddy’s here,” Adrian whispered, kissing the boy’s face repeatedly.
“I was scared, Daddy. The bad lady’s friends were outside,” Caleb whimpered, burying his face in Adrian’s coat.
“They’re gone now, baby. They’re never coming back,” Adrian promised. He stood up, looking at Clara. “Pack everything. We have to move. Now.”
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“Where are we going?” Clara asked, her voice shaking as she grabbed a backpack full of Caleb’s clothes. “Adrian, what is happening? Who were those men?”
“We’re taking the fight to them,” Adrian said, picking Caleb up in his left arm and grabbing the duffel bag with his right. “We’re ending this tonight.”
