Chapter 7 - The Unseen Machinery
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We heard the faint sound of my father setting his receiver down on a wooden desk. Then, another sound came through the cracked phone speaker—a sound that made Carter’s cocky grin falter slightly.
It was the distinct, rhythmic clicking of multiple mechanical keyboards and the clear, overlapping murmur of professional voices in what sounded like a massive command center.
“Get Director Vance on line one,” my father’s distant voice commanded someone in his room. “Tell him General Miller is invoking Protocol Red immediately. I need a tactical medical extraction unit routed to my daughter’s address in Alexandria, Virginia. Coordinates uploading now.”
Carter blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? What fake game are you playing, old man?”
My father’s voice returned to the line, sharp as a razor blade.
“Carter Vance,” my father said smoothly. “You have three minutes before my medical transport arrives at your front door. If my daughter or my grandson suffers permanent harm because of your hands, there is no court, no law firm, and no uncle in the District of Columbia that will be able to save you from what comes next.”
Eleanor’s smile vanished instantly. “Is this a joke? Who does he think he—”
May you like
Before she could finish her sentence, the deep, thunderous chop-chop-chop of heavy helicopter blades began to rattle the windowpanes of the house. The glass vibrated wildly in its frames.
Outside in the quiet, affluent Alexandria neighborhood, blinding searchlights suddenly cut through the darkness, illuminating our front lawn in stark white light.
