Chapter 2: Ghost Protocol
Chapter 2: Ghost Protocol
We didn't go back to his car. "It's burned," my father said simply, guiding me down a dark alleyway two blocks from the facility. "They'll be tracking the GPS by now."
"Where are we going?" I gasped, my lungs burning. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, replaced by a cold, creeping reality. I was a fugitive.
"To disappear," he replied. He led me to a dusty, unremarkable 1998 Honda Civic parked under a flickering streetlamp. He reached under the front wheel well, retrieving a magnetic key box. Within seconds, the engine sputtered to life.
As we drove away from the financial district, I stared at my father. The man who had patiently taught me how to sand oak and build birdhouses was gone. In his place was a tactical ghost.
"What about Mom?" I asked, panic suddenly gripping my throat. "Martha knows who you are. The police were at the house. If Vance's people get to her..."
My father kept his eyes on the road, but a faint, proud smile touched his lips. "Your mother isn't just a housewife, Mia. Where do you think I met her?"
I stared at him, my mind struggling to process this new information. "Wait. Mom was...?"
"An analyst. The best cryptographer the agency ever had," he said softly. "The moment I put my watch on that table, it was the signal. By the time the police arrived to arrest Robert, she was already gone. She's on a secure route to our rendezvous point."
I slumped back against the worn fabric of the passenger seat. My entire life had been a carefully constructed stage play.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a news alert. Then another. And another.
May you like
"They have it," I whispered.
"Yes," my father said, turning onto the interstate. "And by tomorrow morning, Director Vance will be too busy fighting off the FBI and the media to hunt us. But Robert's handlers... they won't stop. We need to be ready."
