Chapter 12 - Midnight on the Syracuse Highway
The windshield wipers beat a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the glass as the sedan hurtled north along Route Eleven.
Sophie sat in the passenger seat, the two halves of her mother’s recipe card resting gently on her lap.
Between the torn cardboard layers, the microfilm negative caught the faint green glow of the dashboard instruments.
"How did my mother end up in that safe house, Thomas?" Sophie asked, her voice quiet in the rushing cabin.
Thomas Grant leaned forward from the backseat, his hand resting on the back of Sophie’s headrest.
"Your mother was twenty-six years old when she took a job as a court reporter in Manhattan," Thomas said.
"She had fast fingers and an honest heart, which was a fatal combination in that courthouse."
"One night, she was assigned to transcribe a closed-door deposition involving Marcus Vance and three high-ranking city aldermen."
"They were discussing the distribution of ninety kilograms of seized narcotics taken from a Brooklyn warehouse."
"They assumed she was just another nameless clerk who typed what she heard and forgot it by morning."
"They didn't know Rebecca had an eidetic memory."
"She didn't just type the testimony; she understood the criminal architecture behind it."
Margaret sat beside Thomas, her sightless eyes staring out into the dark sheets of rain.
"When Rebecca realized Vance was going to execute the presiding judge, she stole the audio reels from the archive locker," Margaret added.
"She ran to the federal building, but Vance already had informants in the lobby."
"That was when Thomas hid her."
"I took her to the only place Vance wouldn't think to look," Thomas confessed, his voice thick with regret.
"A safe house funded off-the-books by Salvatore Romano himself."
"Salvatore wanted dirt on Vance to keep the police from raiding his shipping terminals."
"Elena Romano was already there, hiding from Salvatore because she wanted to raise Nico away from the syndicate."
"Two women, both running from dangerous men, ended up sharing that kitchen in Syracuse."
Sophie touched the faded graphite marks on the recipe card.
"And they made a pact."
"They realized they were both bargaining chips in a war they didn't start," Margaret said, nodding slowly.
"Elena knew Vance was Nico’s father, but she knew Vance would raise the boy to be an obedient monster."
"Elena told Rebecca that Nico must never know Vance’s identity because Vance would use that bloodline to swallow the Romano family whole."
"So they hid the audio tapes and the bank records in the Syracuse depository."
"And your mother promised to take the key to her grave."
Suddenly, the radio inside the sedan crackled with a high-priority police band alert.
"All units in the northern sector," an automated dispatcher announced.
"Be on the lookout for a black sedan traveling northbound on Route Eleven."
"Suspects are considered armed and dangerous, wanted in connection with an explosion at Saint Jude’s chapel."
"Authorized use of deadly force has been granted by the Office of the Deputy Commissioner."
Nico pressed the accelerator harder, the speedometer climbing past ninety miles per hour.
"Vance is activating every state trooper between here and the Canadian border," Nico said, his eyes scanning the pitch-black highway ahead.
In the distance, the flashing red and blue lights of two state police cruisers appeared on the horizon.
The cruisers had parked across both lanes of the highway, setting up a roadblock at the base of an overpass.
"Hold on," Nico warned, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.
"What are you doing?" Sophie gasped, bracing her hands against the dashboard.
"Vance wants a war," Nico said, his voice flat and icy.
"I'm giving him one."
Instead of braking, Nico swerved the sedan off the asphalt, plunging down the grassy embankment of the median strip.
Mud exploded against the wheel wells as the heavy chassis bottomed out with a deafening metallic screech.
The car fishtailed violently across the soaked turf, clearing the concrete abutment of the bridge by less than two feet.
Nico wrenched the wheel to the right, slamming the tires back onto the northbound pavement past the roadblock.
Behind them, sirens wailed into the night as the cruisers scrambled to turn around on the flooded tarmac.
Sophie looked back through the rain-streaked rear window, watching the emergency lights fade into the mist.
"We have twenty miles before we hit the city center," Nico said, checking the dashboard clock.
"It's eleven forty-five."
May you like
"The depository’s automated vault cycle resets at midnight."
"If we don't open that door before the clock strikes twelve, the system locks down until morning."
