Chapter 296
Chapter 296:
Then a harsh, violent buzzing shattered the peace.
Crawford’s encrypted tactical phone vibrated aggressively against the glass table. The warmth in his eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by cold, calculated steel. He picked up the phone and read the message.
He looked up at June.
“The FBI just sent the alert,” Crawford said, his voice dropping to a tactical clip. “They found the syndicate leader. He is moving p>
The brief sanctuary was over. The hunt had begun.
Crawford was on his feet before the chair finished scraping against the floor.
“The target is a man known as the Ghost,” he said, his words rapid and precise. “The Providence deal was a decoy. He is clearing out a secondary warehouse right here in Boston. He is trying to reach a private dock and take a speedboat into international waters p>
June did not hesitate for a single second.
She grabbed her encrypted laptop and shoved it into her leather bag, snatched her coat, and straightened up.
“I am coming with you,” June stated. Her voice left absolutely no room for debate. She needed to secure the physical hard drives from that warehouse before the Ghost destroyed them.
Crawford looked at her. He saw the absolute, fearless determination in her eyes and gave a single, sharp nod.
𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘯
They sprinted out of the office and took the private executive elevator straight down to the subterranean parking garage.
Waiting in the VIP section was a massive, terrifying machine — a custom-built Cadillac Escalade painted matte black, a presidential-grade armored vehicle weighing over four tons.
Crawford yanked the heavy passenger door open. June climbed inside. He sprinted around the front, dropped into the driver’s seat, and hit the ignition.
The massive V8 engine roared to life with a deafening, guttural bellow. The tires shrieked against the concrete as Crawford buried the accelerator, launching the four-ton vehicle up the exit ramp and out into the dark Boston night.
He hit a button on the dashboard. The encrypted tactical radio crackled to life.
“All other units, maintain perimeter. I’m going in hot,” Crawford commanded into the radio. “The target is spooked — a convoy will send him to ground. I’m taking him alone p>
“Target vehicle is a black Chevrolet Suburban, no plates.” The FBI dispatcher’s voice filled the cabin. “He is heading south on I-93, approaching the coastal highway p>
Crawford hit a second button on the center console. The tactical screen flickered to life, projecting a live city traffic grid fed directly from his private security network.
“Where is the bottleneck?” he asked, his eyes locked on the road ahead.
June leaned forward, her gaze rapidly scanning the glowing green lines on the display.
“Crawford,” she said, her voice perfectly steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. “There is night construction on the coastal bridge two miles ahead. It narrows to a single lane. If we catch him there, he has nowhere to run p>
“Hold on,” Crawford commanded.