Chapter 7 - The Hostage
Viktor stared at the white chess piece, his face draining of all color.
"It is Pierce’s calling card," Viktor whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute fury.
"He was here first."
"How is that possible?" I asked, my mind struggling to keep up with the impossible speed of this game.
"Silas died before he could tell them the location," I reasoned.
Viktor picked up the chess piece and crushed it in his massive hand.
"They didn't need Silas to tell them," Viktor said coldly.
"They followed the courier."
My memory flashed back to the restaurant, to the phone call I had translated.
"Wait," I said, grabbing Viktor's arm.
"The man on the phone said the package was held up by a federal inspection."
"Yes," Viktor nodded impatiently.
"But customs doesn't do random inspections on your cargo, right?" I asked.
"You pay them not to."
"Exactly," Viktor agreed.
"Which means the courier was never stopped by customs at all," I realized.
"The courier made that story up to buy time so he could bring the document directly to Pierce."
Viktor’s eyes widened slightly as my logic clicked perfectly into place.
"The courier is the mole," Viktor breathed.
"We have three minutes until the vote," Viktor said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the elevator.
We rode back up to the lobby in agonizing silence, watching the digital numbers slowly climb.
When the elevator doors chimed and slid open on the ground floor, my heart stopped completely.
Standing in the center of the marble bank lobby was the courier, holding a suppressed pistol.
But he was not alone.
The courier had one arm wrapped tightly around the neck of Daniel Mercer, my general manager from the restaurant.
Daniel's face was bruised and bloody, and his eyes were wide with pure terror.
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"Drop the gun, Viktor!" the courier shouted, pressing the barrel hard into Daniel’s temple.
"Or I blow the manager's brains out right in front of his favorite waitress."
