Chapter 15
Inside the dark, freezing ranger station, the silence was absolutely deafening. Maren held Bennett fiercely against her chest, covering his ears with her cold hands, terrified that the sudden, violent sound of gunfire would erupt from the woods at any second. She was a woman who had spent her entire life attending high-society galas and managing corporate charities, but right now, she felt a primal, fierce instinct to kill anyone who tried to step through that wooden door.
Sloane sat on the cold floor in the darkest corner of the cabin, the laptop resting on her knees. She had plugged a specialized satellite uplink dongle into the USB port, praying that the dense, heavy pine canopy above them wouldn't completely block the signal.
"Come on, come on," Sloane muttered under her breath, watching the red signal bar blink agonizingly slowly on the screen. The battery icon glowed a sinister, flashing red. Seven percent remaining.
"Are you getting through?" Maren whispered, her eyes constantly darting toward the boarded-up window.
"I'm trying to connect directly to the FBI Director of Cyber Crimes," Sloane replied, her fingers flying rapidly across the keyboard. "He was my mentor. If I ping local law enforcement, Vance's corrupt contacts will intercept the call and just send more mercenaries to finish the job. We have to bypass the entire state network."
The screen flickered, and suddenly, the red signal bar turned a solid, vibrant green. A secure, encrypted chat window popped up on the screen.
Sloane? You're completely off the grid. What is your status?
Sloane didn't hesitate. Her fingers moved like lightning.
Code Black. Maine safe house compromised. Massive international financial syndicate involved. High-value target Richard Vance is actively attempting to assassinate Everett Langford. I am initiating an emergency data dump of the Langford encrypted hard drive to your secure server right now. Trace this satellite ping and send heavily armed federal agents immediately.
She hit enter and initiated the massive file transfer. A loading bar appeared on the screen, crawling slowly from zero to one percent.
May you like
Files receiving. Federal Tactical Teams are scrambling from Boston right now. ETA is forty-five minutes. Hold your position, Sloane.
"They are coming," Sloane looked up at Maren, a grim, determined smile breaking across her face. "We just have to survive for forty-five more minutes."
