“I'm here. We're in the archive room. One of the exterior doors has been forced open.”
“Do not approach the entrance. Secure the original document.”
“Understood.”
Victoria turned toward the staircase. The narrow corridor stretched ahead, its walls covered with peeling paint and old photographs of former courthouse officials.
A shadow moved at the far end.
“Federal agents!” Victoria shouted. “Show your hands!”
The shadow disappeared.
One of the agents moved forward, but Victoria stopped him.
“Wait. Don't separate.”
A moment later, a gunshot echoed through the basement.
Everyone dropped behind the nearest concrete wall.
“Shots fired!” an agent shouted into the radio.
Victoria's heart pounded. She knew that whoever had entered the building was not there to negotiate. They had come for the authorization document.
“Sarah, is the evidence secure?”
“Yes. We have the original folder.”
“Get it out through the rear exit. Use the secondary team.”
“What about you?”
“I'm staying until we know who entered the building.”
Victoria moved toward the staircase with two agents behind her. Their flashlights swept across the walls, revealing dust, broken glass, and a trail of muddy footprints.
At the top of the stairs, a door stood open.
Beyond it was the main courthouse lobby.
A man wearing dark clothing stood near the entrance. His face was hidden beneath a black cap. He held a small object in one hand.
“Drop it!” an agent ordered.
The man turned and ran.
Victoria followed for several steps before realizing that he was heading toward the rear corridor, exactly where Sarah's team had been instructed to leave.
“Sarah, get out now! The intruder is heading toward your exit!”
The response came immediately.
“Copy!”
A door slammed somewhere behind the building.
Then silence.
Victoria reached the rear corridor just as Sarah emerged with the evidence case.
“Are you all right?” Victoria asked.
Sarah nodded.
“The original document is safe.”
“Did you see the intruder?”
“No. But one of the agents saw a vehicle waiting outside.”
Victoria looked toward the street.
A black sedan was disappearing around the corner.
“Get the plate.”
The team rushed outside, but the vehicle was already gone.
Victoria looked back at the courthouse.
“They knew exactly where we were.”
Sarah nodded.
“And they knew what we had found.”
Victoria glanced at the evidence case.
“Then there's no more reason to pretend this is still a quiet investigation.”
At Blackwood, Peter Wallace received a message from an unknown number.
The courthouse operation failed. The document has been recovered.
He stared at the screen.
Then he walked toward the room where James Mitchell was being held.
James was still seated in the chair, but the small metal key he had found was no longer on the floor. He had managed to hide it inside the cuff of his sleeve.
Wallace opened the door.
“Your son has caused a great deal of trouble.”
James looked up.
“I'm sure he's doing his best.”
Wallace placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Ryan entering the federal facility.
“Your son believes the government can protect him.”
James examined the photograph.
“Can it?”
Wallace smiled.
“Not from everyone.”
James looked at him.
“You're frightened.”
Wallace's expression hardened.
“Excuse me?”
“You keep coming in here telling me how powerful your employers are. You keep showing me pictures of my son. You keep asking questions you already know the answers to.”
James leaned forward.
“People who are truly powerful don't need to threaten old men in locked rooms.”
Wallace stared at him for several seconds.
Then he picked up the photograph and walked toward the door.
“You have until midnight to reconsider.”
“Reconsider what?”
“Your son's future.”
James gave a tired smile.
“My son's future belongs to him. Not you.”
Wallace slammed the door.
James waited until the footsteps disappeared.
Then he carefully pulled the key from his sleeve.
He had noticed a small metal cabinet near the back wall when Wallace entered. It had a lock similar to the one on the door.
Perhaps the key would fit.
He looked around the room.
A loose piece of metal had been left beneath the chair. He used it to work against the restraints, slowly loosening the binding around his right wrist.
His hands were old, but they were not useless.
He had spent thirty years working in a sheriff's department. He knew how to remain patient.
And he knew that the smallest opportunity could be enough.
Victoria reached the Blackwood command post shortly after midnight.
The estate was surrounded by dense woodland. The main building stood at the end of a long private road, with several smaller structures scattered across the property.