Chapter 5 - The Ambush at Sunrise
Getting out of Blackwood Memorial without being tackled by the two deputies outside Maya’s door required something I hadn't used in thirty years: misdirection.
I didn't run. I walked casually out into the hallway, approached the water fountain opposite the nurses’ desk, and took a slow drink. The two deputies, both young men with badges that still looked shiny, immediately stiffened, their hands drifting toward their belts.
"Visiting hours are technically over, Mr. Miller," the taller one said, his chest puffed out. "Chief Albright said you’re to stay in that room until he returns with the magistrate."
"I just need some fresh air," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "My daughter is asleep. I’m going to the vending machines down by the cafeteria."
"You stay where we can see you," the second deputy grunted.
I nodded, took five slow steps toward the elevator bank, and then made a sharp right into the linen service corridor.
Before the deputies realized what had happened, I ducked through the fire exit door, propped it open with a stray tongue depressor from an open medical cart, and took the concrete emergency stairs down three flights to the basement loading dock. Within two minutes, I had slipped out into the misty dawn air behind the hospital dumpsters.
My truck was still parked in front of the Vance estate, smashed up and abandoned. I couldn't go back there openly.
I walked four blocks down Elm Street to an all-night diner with an outdoor payphone. I pulled two quarters from my jeans pocket and dialed a ten-digit number I had committed to memory fifteen years ago in Fort Bragg.
The line rang four times before a gravelly, sleep-rough voice answered.
"Yeah."
"Marcus. It’s Frank."
A beat of absolute silence on the other end, followed by the rustle of sheets and the metallic *clack* of a weapon being cleared and set aside.
"Frank? What’s wrong? You haven't called this number since my daughter graduated high school."
"I need a clean ride, a burner phone, and access to your hardware," I said simply. "They took Maya."
"Who took her?"
"The Vance family."
Marcus didn't ask another question. He didn't ask about legalities, warrants, or odds. Marcus Cole had served as my platoon sergeant in the sandbox; we had pulled each other out of burning Humvees while taking heavy small-arms fire from three sides.
"Where are you?" Marcus asked.
"Corner of 4th and Elm. Outside the Blue Moon Diner."
"Sit tight. Fifteen minutes."
The line went dead.
Fourteen minutes later, a beat-up gray Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. The passenger door swung open. I jumped in, and Marcus floored the accelerator, merging smoothly into the early morning commuter traffic.
Marcus was fifty-eight, broad as a barn door, with a shaved head and a salt-and-pepper goatee. He tossed a fresh hot coffee into my lap, along with a prepaid flip phone.
"Talk to me, Frank."
I laid it out in four minutes flat: Julian’s assault, the blood on the porch, the secret ledger, the arson payoffs, the encrypted drive sewn into the hem of Maya’s coat, and the corrupt sheriff holding my daughter hostage under the guise of an investigation.
Marcus whistled low between his teeth, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "That’s heavy weight, brother. Richard Vance practically owns the governor. If you push this, they won't just try to put you in prison. They’ll try to put you six feet under."
"They can try," I said, staring out at the grey, rain-slicked highway. "First, we get Maya out of that hospital before Albright files emergency conservatorship papers. Second, we retrieve that drive."
"We can't walk back into the Vance mansion," Marcus said pragmatically. "After what you did to Julian’s nose, that place is crawling with private security and state troopers by now. It’s a locked fortress."
"Then we don't go through the front door," I said. "We hit the mudroom from the tree line behind the stables. But first, Maya."
Before Marcus could answer, my newly acquired flip phone began to vibrate violently in the cup holder.
I picked it up and flipped it open. "Speak."
"Mr. Miller?" A woman’s frantic voice whispered through the speaker. "Frank, is this you?"
"Who is this?"
"It’s Deputy Clara Lopez," the voice said, panting as if she were running. "I was on duty at the front desk when Chief Albright took the call from Senator Vance ten minutes ago. You need to know what they’re doing."
"What are they doing, Clara?"
May you like
"They aren't waiting for a judge," Clara whispered urgently. "A private transport van from St. Jude’s Psychiatric Facility just pulled up to the hospital ambulance bay. Senator Vance had a corrupt county physician sign an emergency involuntary commitment order. They’re taking Maya right now. If they get her into that van, she disappears into the system forever!"
***
