Chapter 41: Crossing the Atlantic
Chapter 41: Crossing the Atlantic
The blackout in Chicago lasted seventy-two hours, but Sarah didn't see the lights come back on.
She was already thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, sitting in the cramped cabin of a cargo plane owned by her father's remaining gray-market assets. Thomas Sterling sat across from her, staring at a satellite map of London.
"The texts came from a routing server in Canary Wharf," Sterling said, his voice flat. "But the entity behind it isn't British. It's global. They call themselves The Consortium. They’re the ones who financed James’s father in the nineties. They own the debt of Vance Global."
Sarah didn't look at him. She was staring at her own hands. The skin of her right thumb was still slightly red from the biometric scanner in Toledo. My print unlocked the safe. My bloodline betrayed my daughter.
"Arthur survived the gunshot," Sterling added, glancing at her. "The bullet hit the trauma plate. He’s back in Chicago, fighting the feds to keep Reyes from getting court-martialed for your escape."
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"I don't care," Sarah said quietly. Her voice sounded older now, hollowed out by rage. "I don't care about Arthur. I don't care about your money, Thomas. I am going to London to get my child. If you get in my way, I’ll leak the secondary encryption keys to the MI6 before we even touch the tarmac."
Sterling smiled—a cold, terrifyingly proud expression. "I told you, Sarah. You have your mother's spine. But London isn't Chicago. Out here, there are no police sirens coming to save you."
