They reached the side of the SUV. Miller opened the back door, revealing the hard plastic seats and the thick wire mesh of the prisoner transport cage.
"Get in," Miller barked, pushing Vance's head down roughly.
Vance slid awkwardly into the back seat, the tight handcuffs digging painfully into his spine as he was forced to lean against them. The space was claustrophobic, smelling of stale sweat and industrial disinfectant.
Miller slammed the door shut, locking Vance inside.
Through the tinted glass of the rear window, Vance watched Miller walk back toward the Dodge Charger. The local officer stood there, hands on his hips, looking at the vehicle that was still parked horizontally across the ramp, its federal strobes blindingly bright.
Vance knew exactly what Miller was thinking. The officer wanted to move the Charger. He wanted to clear the ramp and drive down to the broken-down cruiser to prove he was right, to prove he had control of the situation.
If Miller got into that Charger and moved it, the ramp would be wide open. And with the surface street traffic currently overflowing and chaotic, it would only take one confused civilian driver to bypass the SUV, drive down the ramp, and hit the motorcade at sixty miles per hour.
Vance kicked the heavy steel door of the SUV with his boot. Thud!
Miller turned, glaring at the back of his cruiser.
"Do not move that car!" Vance shouted through the thick glass, though he knew his voice was entirely muffled. "Leave the blockade intact!"
Miller shook his head in disgust, turned his back on Vance, and walked toward the driver's side door of the Dodge Charger. He was going to move the barricade.
Chapter 6: The Earpiece
Though Miller had ripped the microphone cord from Vance’s wrist, snapping the transmission wire, the clear plastic acoustic tube leading to Vance’s right ear was still firmly in place. The earpiece was on a separate, concealed circuit connected to a receiver on Vance's belt. He couldn't speak to Command, but he could hear everything.
And right now, his earpiece was exploding with chaos.
"Command, this is Vanguard Lead. We are passing Mile Marker 43. Approaching the Route 50 interchange." The voice belonged to the commander of the lead motorcycle wedge, running just ahead of the armored limousines.
"Vanguard, Command. Be advised, we have lost comms with Sector Four Route Control. Agent Vance is unresponsive." The dispatcher’s voice, normally cool and robotic, had a sharp edge of panic.
"Command, CAT Actual. We are monitoring. What is the status of the Gallows Road ramp?" The deep, gravelly voice belonged to the commander of the Counter Assault Team, the heavily armed tactical unit riding in the black Subarus behind the President. Their sole purpose was to unleash overwhelming firepower in the event of an ambush.
Vance squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was locked in a cage, his hands going numb, while a potential disaster unfolded mere feet away.
"Command, Vanguard Lead. I have visual on the Gallows Road overpass. I see federal strobes, but the vehicle is moving. Repeat, the barricade vehicle is moving!"
Through the window of the cruiser, Vance watched in horror as the brake lights of his Dodge Charger illuminated. Miller had gotten into the driver's seat. The engine revved, and the heavy black sedan slowly began to pull forward, angling parallel to the ramp to open up the lane.
Miller was dismantling the perimeter.
"Command, CAT Actual! We have an unverified vehicle movement at the choke point! The ramp is compromised!"
"All units, all units! This is Command! We have a potential breach at Gallows Road! Vanguard, decrease speed. Package, prepare for evasive maneuvers."
Vance threw his body against the door of the SUV, slamming his shoulder into the reinforced glass. He had to get out. He had to stop Miller. He kicked the door violently, the heavy thuds echoing inside the plastic cage, but the locking mechanism held firm.
The earpiece was a symphony of tactical panic.
"CAT Actual, we are pushing forward to intercept. Vanguard, split the lane. We are taking the ramp."
Vance’s blood ran cold. The Counter Assault Team was not a police unit; they were a military-grade strike force. If they saw an unauthorized vehicle breaching a secured ramp toward the Presidential motorcade, they wouldn't ask for a license and registration. They would put thirty rounds of 5.56 ammunition through the engine block, and then they would neutralize the driver.
Miller was about to drive Vance’s unmarked Charger down the ramp, right into the crosshairs of the deadliest protection detail on the planet.
Chapter 7: The Approaching Roar
Beneath the overpass, the low hum had evolved into a deafening, physical vibration. It was a sound that commanded absolute obedience—the collective roar of thirty highly tuned engines moving in perfect, lethal synchronization.
It started with the sirens of the Washington D.C. Metropolitan Police motorcycle wedge, a high-pitched, oscillating wail that cleared the air like a knife. Behind them, the deep, throaty rumble of the armored Chevy Suburbans, heavily modified beasts carrying electronic countermeasures, medical teams, and the heavily armed CAT operators.
And in the center, a pair of identical Cadillac limousines, heavily armored and flying the flags of the United States. The Beast.
Even locked inside the Fairfax County SUV, Vance could feel the ground vibrating as the vanguard approached the overpass. The flashing lights from below reflected off the concrete walls of the highway, illuminating the gray afternoon with a chaotic strobe of red, blue, and amber.
Inside the Dodge Charger, Miller finally seemed to notice the sheer scale of what was happening below. He had pulled the car parallel to the ramp, effectively opening the lane, and had just shifted into drive to head down to the broken police cruiser. But as the deafening roar of the motorcade hit him, he slammed on the brakes.
From Vance’s vantage point, he could see Miller staring out the windshield of the Charger, frozen in shock. The cop finally realized he wasn't looking at a standard highway patrol operation. He was looking at the full might of the United States Secret Service, and they were bearing down on his exact position.