Chapter 9 - The Midnight Extraction
At precisely a quarter to ten, the low, muffled rumble of a heavy diesel engine vibrated through the floorboards of the mansion.
I lay limp on the bed, dressed in a simple cotton nightgown, keeping my eyelids heavy and my breathing shallow.
The bedroom door was thrown open, and four individuals entered the room with disciplined, military precision.
Daniel led the way, flanked by two men in sterile dark-blue surgical scrubs wearing heavy black masks and carrying a portable collapsible gurney.
Behind them walked a tall, severe-looking European man with silver hair and cold, calculating gray eyes, carrying an aluminum medical field case.
"Is this her?" the older man asked in a crisp German accent, stepping toward the bed without looking at Daniel.
"Yes, Dr. Keller," Daniel replied, checking his platinum wristwatch.
"She took sixty milligrams of Neuropan-7 roughly two hours ago; tissue perfusion should be optimal."
Dr. Keller opened his aluminum case, pulling out a penlight and peeling back my right eyelid with a gloved thumb.
The beam of light was blinding, burning into my retina, but I kept my pupil fixed forward in a glassy, unresponsive stare.
He checked my carotid pulse, then tapped a neurological hammer against my patellar tendon; my leg remained completely limp.
"Remarkable compound," Keller muttered, nodding in clinical approval to the two orderlies.
"Deep central nervous system depression with zero hepatic toxicity; her organs will be in pristine condition for Frau Sterling."
"Transfer her to the vacuum pod immediately; we cannot afford to lose vessel pressure during the harbor transfer."
The two orderlies hoisted my body off the mattress with mechanical roughness, lifting me onto the specialized carbon-fiber gurney.
They strapped heavy padded nylon belts across my chest, hips, and ankles, securing me so tightly that I could barely expand my ribcage to breathe.
A clear plastic oxygen mask was strapped over my nose and mouth, pumping a steady, hiss of pure, cold oxygen across my face.
Under my left forearm, taped securely beneath the thick cotton cuff of my nightgown, the needle-sharp point of the Flumazenil auto-injector bit into my skin.
It was my only weapon, my single lifeline if things went wrong before the federal agents could strike.
They wheeled me out of the bedroom, down the grand mahogany staircase, and out through the rear service entrance into the freezing night air.
A thick blanket of coastal fog hung low over the estate grounds, swallowing the beam of their flashlights in murky white mist.
Waiting in the gravel driveway was an unmarked matte-black medical ambulance, its rear double doors standing wide open.
The orderlies slid the gurney into the locking tracks of the vehicle's interior with a sharp metallic clatter, securing the frame to the chassis.
Daniel climbed into the back beside me, sitting on the metal bench opposite the gurney, his face illuminated by the green glow of the cardiac monitor.
Dr. Keller climbed into the passenger seat up front, and the heavy rear doors slammed shut, plunging us into claustrophobic semi-darkness.
The ambulance lurched forward, its heavy tires crunching over the gravel driveway before accelerating onto the winding mountain road.
Daniel stared down at me, reaching out to rest his hand over my bound fingers with a chilling semblance of affection.
"You look peaceful, Margaret," he said softly, his voice competing with the hum of the engine and the hiss of my oxygen mask.
"In a few hours, Victoria will wake up with your vitality flowing through her veins."
"She will see the world again, she will live the long life she was robbed of, and you will have made that possible."
"In a way, you should be honored; you are giving your life for true love."
I lay there under the plastic mask, staring up through half-closed lashes at the man I had promised to love until death did us part.
The irony was suffocating; he truly believed he was a romantic hero, a devoted husband fighting against the cruelty of fate.
He did not see himself as a monster, which made him a thousand times more dangerous.
As the ambulance rounded a sharp curve, the sudden salty smell of the ocean penetrated the vehicle's ventilation system.
We had reached the industrial harbor district.
The vehicle began to slow down, its tires bumping over the uneven cobblestones and abandoned railroad tracks of the old shipping piers.
Through the tinted rear window, I could see the towering, rusted silhouettes of decommissioned industrial cranes looming against the foggy night sky.
The vehicle came to a complete halt, and the engine was cut, leaving only the sound of distant waves slapping against rotting wooden pilings.
"We are at Pier 44," the driver announced from the front cabin.
"The Artemis V is docked and ready for boarding; the surgical theater is fully prepped."
Daniel stood up, pulling a suppressed semi-automatic pistol from his tactical jacket and checking the chamber with a crisp mechanical snap.
May you like
"Let's get her aboard," Daniel ordered, reaching for the rear door handle.
"The storm is coming in fast."
