Chapter 11 - Ambush On The Highway
The noon sun beat down on the polished black hood of the sedan as we rolled past the iron gates of Manor Vista. The thick gray cardigan I wore felt heavy, trapping the heat against my bruised collarbone, while my right arm rested stiffly against the makeshift splint of wooden spoons and duct tape. In the passenger seat beside me, the muscular man in his dark button-down shirt kept his fingers drumming a slow, measured rhythm against his knee. His heavy dark tattoos caught the stray glints of sunlight shifting through the tinted glass, his silver ring catching the dashboard light every time he adjusted his grip. Behind us, the bodyguard in his sharp black suit and tie maintained a precise two-car distance in a secondary SUV, carrying the redundant backups of the Manor Vista financial ledgers.
We were heading north toward the state capital, where an independent federal magistrate had agreed to receive the tablet and physical manifests. The highway stretched out ahead of us, a four-lane ribbon of cracked asphalt cutting through dry scrubland and sparse pine stands. Traffic was thin this far out from the city limits, mostly log trucks and interstate haulers kicking up faint ripples of heat haze off the shoulder.
"Check the transmission on the secure receiver," he said, his voice low and level as he glanced at the dashboard display.
I reached across the console, my fingers a little clumsy against the touchscreen, and tapped the icon that monitored our satellite uplink. The signal bars flickered, stable for now, though encrypted data packets took several seconds longer to bounce through the relay nodes. "It's holding," I told him, keeping my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where the bodyguard’s black SUV tracked our movements with mechanical precision. "As long as we don't drop below the ridge line."
The warning came not from the monitor, but from the sudden change in the motion of the vehicles ahead. A heavy flatbed semi truck in the right lane began to decelerate without warning, its brake lights flaring a harsh crimson. At the same moment, a dusty silver pickup truck pulled out from a highway maintenance crossover, matching our speed in the left lane and effectively boxing us in against the metal guardrail.
"Hold on," he muttered, his hand dropping instantly to the heavy door handle while his eyes swept the side mirrors.
The silver pickup didn't maintain its distance. It drifted inward with deliberate, calculated aggression, its front quarter-panel scraping against our rear door with a sharp screech of tearing metal and sparks that danced across the asphalt. Up ahead, the flatbed truck dropped its speed further, forcing our driver to brake hard or risk sliding underneath the rear carriage.
"They're not trying to stop us," I said, my breath catching in my throat as the G-force pressed me back into the seat. "They're trying to pinch us against the median."
"They're trying to separate the vehicles," he corrected, his gaze snapping back to the rearview mirror.
The bodyguard's SUV reacted before the second trap could close. Instead of braking behind us, the black vehicle accelerated aggressively, its engine roaring as it surged into the emergency lane on the right. The bodyguard executed a sharp, controlled J-turn maneuver, cutting hard across the asphalt to intercept a third unmarked sedan that had just swung out from an overpass access road, attempting to block our escape route from behind.
Metal collided with a heavy, sickening thud behind us as the SUV slammed its front bumper directly into the side of the unmarked sedan, pushing it violently off the shoulder and into the brush.
"Now!" he shouted.
Our driver jerked the wheel hard to the left, clipping the rear bumper of the slowing flatbed and sliding through the narrow gap between the truck and the median guardrail. Tires squealed against the gravel shoulder, kicking up a blinding cloud of dust as we broke free of the box and surged forward into the open lane ahead.
In the rearview mirror, through the settling dust and exhaust smoke, I could see the bodyguard's SUV holding its ground across the highway lanes, blocking any immediate pursuit while hazard lights blinked rhythmically against the glare of the midday sun.
"Are they going to make it?" I asked, my chest heaving as I clutched my cardigan tighter around my ribs.
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"He knows what he's doing," the tattooed man replied, his voice hard as iron, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the grab handle above the door. He pulled out his phone, bypassing the encrypted tablet to punch in a direct frequency. "We don't stop until we reach the city limits. Keep your eyes on the data link."
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