Chapter 16: School Run
1514 Words
POV: Ezra
Monday mornings were statistically the most dangerous time of the week. People were groggy, routines were predictable, and caffeine consumption made reaction times jittery.
Today, however, the danger wasn't statistical. It was specific.
I pulled the town car up to the curb of St. Jude’s Academy. I scanned the street.
Parent in the Range Rover: on the phone, looking bored. Safe.
Groundskeeper: raking leaves. Rhythm is consistent. Safe.
Black Van parked two blocks down: Engine running. Heat signature visible on the pavement. Threat.
"Stay in the car, Julian," I ordered, keeping my hands on the wheel. "Keep the doors locked. If anyone approaches the vehicle who isn't me or a uniformed police officer, you drive. You don't wait for us. You drive."
Julian was sitting in the passenger seat. He was wearing a charcoal suit, but he looked pale. His hand was resting on the grip of his Sig Sauer.
"I'm not leaving you," Julian argued, his eyes scanning the sidewalk.
"You're the driver," I corrected. "The driver never leaves the vehicle. That’s the rule."
I turned to the back seat.
"Leo," I said. "Backpack?"
Leo patted his bag. It contained a lunchbox (ham and cheese, crusts cut off), a juice box, and a GPS tracker sewn into the lining.
"Code word if a stranger approaches?"
Muffin, Leo signed.
"Good. Go learn things. If the fire alarm goes off, remember: ignore the herd. Hug the wall. Meet me at the extraction point (the jungle gym)."
Leo nodded solemnly.
I opened my door. "I’ll walk him to the gate. Keep the engine running, Julian."
Julian nodded, his jaw set tight. "Watch your six, Ezra."
I stepped out onto the pavement. The air was crisp. I took Leo’s hand and walked toward the school entrance.
I adjusted my glasses, smoothing my pastel pink sweater vest. I looked like every other harassed parent trying to drop off their kid before work. Harmless. Soft.
But my eyes were dissecting everything.
The gate was twenty yards away.
A man was standing by the entrance. He was wearing a tracksuit with the school logo.
New Gym Teacher.
I narrowed my eyes behind my lenses.
Heavy build. Cauliflower ear. Cheap running shoes tied with a single knot. Constantly touching his left ear.
St. Jude’s didn't use earpieces. They used walkie-talkies.
"Amateur," I whispered.
The Gym Teacher wasn't looking at the other kids. He was tracking Leo.
I didn't slow down. I walked straight up to the school entrance.
"Excuse me!" I chirped, waving my free hand. "Mr. Gym Teacher? Sir?"
The man turned. He was big. Thick neck. Broken nose that had healed poorly.
"Parents aren't allowed past the gate, sir," he grunted, stepping in front of me to block the door.
"I know, I’m so sorry!" I gasped, fumbling with my tote bag. "But Leo forgot his inhaler! He has terrible asthma. If he runs too much, he wheezes like a broken accordion."
I reached into my bag.
The man watched my hand. He tensed.
I pulled out a bright blue inhaler.
"Here," I smiled, stepping into his personal space. "Could you run it to him?"
The man reached out to take it.
As his hand extended, his jacket opened slightly. I saw the shoulder holster. I saw the grip of a Beretta.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Oh, and one more thing," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"What?"
"Your shoes," I noted. "They're tied wrong. A runner would use a double knot."
Before he could process that, I dropped the inhaler.
As he instinctively looked down, I grabbed his tie (a clip-on? At a private school?) and yanked him downward. I drove my knee into his face.
CRUNCH.
He staggered back, blinded by pain, blood spurting from his nose.
I spun him around, kicking the back of his knee so he dropped to the pavement. I put him in a sleeper hold before he could shout.
"Sleep," I whispered against his ear. "Nap time."
He struggled for three seconds. Then he went limp.
I dragged him behind the large rhododendron bush near the entrance. I quickly patted him down. Gun. Knife. Wallet (ID said 'Marcus Thorne Security Services'). And a burner phone.
Too easy, I thought. Why was he so easy?
The burner phone in the man's pocket buzzed.
I picked it up.
A text message: DISTRACTION SUCCESSFUL. TARGET 2 ACQUIRED.
My blood ran cold.
Target 2?
Leo was Target 1. Who was Target 2?
CRASH.
The sound of metal crunching metal echoed down the street.
I spun around.
Fifty yards away, a heavy black van had slammed into the driver's side of the town car, pinning it against the curb.
"Julian!" I screamed.
I abandoned cover. I sprinted toward the car.
The van doors slid open. Four men in tactical gear poured out. They weren't amateurs. They moved with military precision.
They smashed the passenger window.
I saw Julian fighting. I saw the flash of his Sig Sauer firing inside the car—BANG, BANG. One of the attackers jerked back, clutching his shoulder.
But there were too many of them. They dragged Julian out of the car. He was kicking, striking, fighting like a wild animal.
"Ezra!" Julian shouted, his voice raw with panic. "Get Leo! Get out of—"
A rifle butt slammed into Julian’s temple.
He crumpled.
They threw him into the back of the van. The doors slammed shut. The van screeched away, tires smoking, disappearing into the morning traffic.
I skidded to a halt at the curb.
The town car was wrecked. Glass littered the street. The driver's side door was caved in.
I stood there, panting, my chest heaving.
My phone rang.
I answered it.
"Hello?" My voice was deadly calm.
"Hello, Nanny," a smooth, arrogant voice drawled. Marcus Thorne.
"Thorne," I said. I watched the van turn the corner at the end of the block.
"He fights hard," Thorne sighed. "Broken lip. Ruined a very nice suit. He shot one of my men. But we have him. He’s currently on his way to a secure location in the Docklands. Very cliché, I know, but I like the classics."
I squeezed the phone so hard the screen cracked under my thumb.
"Why?" I asked. "You want the money? You froze the accounts."
"The accounts are encrypted," Thorne said. "I need the biometric keys. And Julian is going to give them to me. Or I’m going to take them off his corpse."
There was a pause.
"Bring me the shipping manifests," Thorne ordered. "The ones Julian stole from my clients. And bring me the hard drive from his safe. You have two hours. Or I put a bullet in the Fixer’s brain."
Click.
He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
They had Julian.
My Julian. The man who made me coffee. The man who bought me velvet suits. The man who kissed my scars and told me I wasn't a monster.
A dark, cold calm settled over me. It was the calm I hadn't felt since Berlin. The calm of the Wolf.
I looked at the school entrance.
Leo was standing by the gate. He had seen everything. He was clutching his backpack straps, his face pale, his eyes wide with terror.
I walked over to him.
I didn't hug him. I didn't coddle him. I crouched down so I was eye-level.
"Leo," I whispered. "Code Red."
Leo dropped his lunchbox.
Code Red. That meant the bad guys won a round.
"Where is Dad?" I signed.
I didn't lie to him. I never lied to him.
"The bad man took him," I whispered. "He took Dad."
I felt tears prick my eyes. I wanted to scream. I wanted to burn the city down.
Ezra grabbed my shoulders. "No tears, Leo. Not yet. Dad needs us. Are you a soldier?"
Leo sniffled. He looked at the wrecked car. He looked at me. He nodded.
"Good," I said. I stood up.
I took his hand and marched him back to the wrecked town car. I popped the trunk.
I pulled up the false bottom, revealing the compartment Julian didn't know about.
Inside lay my retirement fund: A SIG MCX Rattler, two Glock 17s, a tactical vest, flashbangs, and a machete.
I stripped off the pink sweater vest right there on the street. I threw it in the gutter.
I put on the tactical vest over my white t-shirt. I loaded the weapons. I checked the chambers. Click-clack.
I looked at Leo.
"Put your headphones on, Leo," I commanded, handing him the noise-canceling pair. "We are going to take a ride. And then we are going to get Dad back."
Leo put them on. He looked at the guns. He didn't look scared anymore. He looked angry.
I slammed the trunk shut.
Thorne thought he had kidnapped a businessman. He thought he had leverage.
He didn't realize he had just kidnapped the favorite human of a retired Black Ops interrogator.
I looked at the empty street where the van had vanished.
"Okay, Julian," I whispered. "Hang on. The Nanny is coming."
- Writer
