Chapter 6 - The Eye of the Lens
The service stairwell was a concrete silo of echoing footsteps and cold fluorescent light. Mara bounded down the steps three at a time, her arm locked around Maya like an iron band. The child didn't scream; she buried her face into Mara’s shoulder, her small arms wrapped tightly around Mara’s neck, bracing against the violent jarring of every leap.
Above them, the heavy steel fire doors slammed open three floors up. The rhythmic, heavy thud of tactical boots echoed down the shaft.
"Down here!" a voice barked from above. "Cut them off at the basement utility junction!"
Mara reached the basement sub-level, her lungs burning, her muscles screaming with fatigue. She burst through the fire door into a labyrinth of steam pipes, industrial water heaters, and humming air handlers. The air was hot and thick with the smell of motor oil and ozone.
She sprinted through the concrete corridor, her eyes scanning the ceiling markers until she found the overhead sign reading *Maintenance Parking Ramp*.
She burst into the dimly lit underground garage. Spot forty-two was fifty yards away—a battered blue station wagon sitting under a flickering halogen tube.
Before she could take five steps, a figure stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, blocking the path.
Mara pulled up short, her heart leaping into her throat. She instinctively backed away, preparing to swing the fire extinguisher mounted on the adjacent pillar.
"Wait! Don't run!"
The voice wasn't Mercer’s. It was younger, thinner, pitched with nervous energy.
A young man stepped into the light, holding up two open hands. Around his neck hung two professional digital cameras with massive telephoto lenses. It was the young photojournalist who had lowered his camera in the hotel lobby when Clara was struck.
"My name is Toby," he said, speaking in a rapid, breathless rush. "Toby Miller. *The Daily Ledger*. I followed your ambulance from the hotel."
"Get out of my way," Mara hissed, her body coiled to strike.
"Listen to me!" Toby pulled a black memory card from his pocket, holding it up like a talisman. "I got it all. The lobby cameras were scrubbed by Voss’s team within ten minutes of the incident. But I was on a private local frequency with a high-speed buffer. I have the entire assault in uncompressed 4K—Evelyn swinging that brass plate at your sister, the column breaking, and the little girl pointing directly at Voss’s face."
Mara hesitated, her eyes narrowing. "Why are you down here?"
"Because Mercer’s men smashed my van’s windows in the hospital lot five minutes ago," Toby said, his voice shaking with righteous fury. "They tried to take my gear. I’ve spent three years covering Evelyn Voss’s press conferences, watching her buy off every editor in this city while families got shoved out of their homes. I know what she does to people who don't have cameras."
He pointed to Arthur’s blue station wagon.
"Arthur called me. He told me you’d need an escort. I have a broadcast uplink van parked three blocks away—an old analog repeater that Mercer’s digital jammers can't touch. If we can get this memory card and Maya’s statement to the federal circuit judge’s residence on Hillside Avenue before five AM, Evelyn’s injunction is dead."
Behind them, the heavy steel door of the stairwell slammed back against the concrete wall with an explosive crash.
Mercer stepped into the garage, flanked by four men. One of them held an electronic diagnostic tablet; the others had their right hands slipped inside their jackets.
Mercer’s gaze locked onto Mara, then slid to Toby, and finally fixed on the memory card in Toby’s hand.
May you like
"Mr. Miller," Mercer said, his voice dangerously soft as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a holstered Glock 19. "You’ve made a very expensive career mistake."
***
