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The driver of my limo rolls down a window.
“Get in!” he shouts.
Something cracks through the windshield, punching the man back into his seat. He slumps over, eyes still open — blood leaking from his lip.
What the fuck?
It’s Anarchy, Inc. It has to be.
But me? Why me?
I turn to run as a dark van screeches to a stop. Before I can take two steps, men decked out in all black leather jackets and motorcycle helmets grab me from behind and drag me to the van.
“Help!” I shriek as the door shuts behind me and the van speeds off.
“Stay calm,” growls one of my abductors. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
He holds my hands behind my back as the other man cuffs my wrists.
“Please, I’m just a reporter,” I say, taking in the interior of the van. Several monitors hang from the wall, showing satellite views of the city, noting our location and that of other vehicles. Radios play signals from police scanners and live camera feeds from around the city. A weapon locker holds a handful of pistols, but it’s mostly empty. However, two massive chain guns sit on a platform that takes up half of the back of the van.
What the fuck…
“Cops inbound! Turn right!”
I nearly fall as the van rolls over a curb; we land with a thump that shakes everything inside. If these men don’t kill me on purpose, their driving might.
“You have to let me go!” I shout. “You’re going to have every fucking cop in the city after you!”
I say it to scare them into freeing me, but once it’s out, I realize it’s not a bluff. Anton’s going to call on every government agency, every private contractor, anything he can.
Or… he’ll trigger my implants and kill me right now, before I can say anything.
“Please, you don’t understand! I could die at any second! If you wanted me alive, it’s not going to work.”
“Trigger the decoys,” says one of the men, his accented voice catching my ear.
“Understood.”
Somewhere outside the van, gunfire erupts, followed by screams.
“Don’t worry, Kate,” says a man up front, his voice scrambled by a synthesizer. “We’re not killing any innocent civilians, and we’re not going to hurt you. The decoys make a lot of smoke and noise. It should keep the police busy. We don’t have much time.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
My heart pumps; I look to the guns, wondering if I can grab one. But with my hands cuffed, it’s not going to work.
“I think we’re clear,” says the driver. “Heading to the rendezvous.”
Rendezvous?
“What do you want from me?” I ask. The reporter in me can’t help looking to get an exclusive, even as a hostage to terrorists.
The man with the synthesizer, who seems to be the leader, slips from the front seat to join us in back, trading places with the man who cuffed me.
Then the leader takes off his helmet and my world explodes.
“Hi, Kate,” says Ingram. “Sorry it’s been so long.”
