The Medusa Deception

Chapter 20

CONCEALED BEHIND A tall hedge, the mercenaries waited in their darkened car at the 31st Avenue overpass. Spanning a set of railway tracks, the bridge was the only drivable exit from the marina. Truly, a poor tactical choice for a landing site, Lion thought. Only one way out.

As soon as the taxi was in range, Lion stepped from the car, leveled his Stag Arms AR-15 assault rifle at the driver and calmly pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the windshield before entering the driver's right eye, ripping a large hole in the back of his head, spattering Crystal in a warm shower of brain matter and blood.

* * *

THE CAB SWERVED from the road and raced across the grass toward the inky water of Lake Michigan. Ryan sprang into action, kicked the cabbie's foot from the accelerator, hit the brake and grabbed the steering wheel. The cab spun out of control.

"Hang on, Mom!" He yelled, tightening his grip.

The edge of the lake loomed closer.

The rear bumper took the brunt of the impact on the concrete edging at the shoreline. The car abruptly stopped.

Unbuckling himself and the cabbie from their seat belts, Ryan reached across the dead man's body and opened the driver's side door. With one solid push, the carcass slumped to a heap on the grass. Looking up, Ryan saw the kidnapper sprinting toward them, gun drawn.

Ryan punched the accelerator and steered directly at him; the taxi door swung violently closed.

The man leapt onto the hood of the car, grabbed the wiper blade with one hand and aimed his gun at Ryan with the other. Ryan swerved. The man cartwheeled to the ground.

With his comrade out of the way, the man by the car now had a clear shot. Bullets peppered the side of the cab and shattered the windows.

"Get down!" Ryan shouted.

He veered across the grass onto Lakefront trail, a pathway meant strictly for pedestrian and bicycle traffic. Like a pinball in an arcade game, he dodged the trees, missing some and sideswiping others, leaving a trail of car parts in his wake. Swaths of torn up grass, flattened bushes and broken branches added to the trail of destruction.

About a mile through their brush with nature, the path met up with a parking lot at East Oakwood Boulevard. A welcoming bridge spanned over South Lakeshore Drive and the railway tracks, connecting Lakeshore Park to the rest of Chicago — a way out.

Ryan drove over the bridge and headed back to the main precinct. There could be closer police stations, but he didn't know of any. He'd stick to the original plan and double-back.

Turning right on South Martin Luther King Drive, he checked the rearview mirror. No one was following. He slowed a bit, took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure. His hands were clenched so hard on the steering wheel, it was all he could do to pry them away and work circulation back into his fingers. As the haze of adrenaline began to fade, rational thinking started to return.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. How the hell did they know where we were? And why weren't they following?

The answer hit him squarely in the chest. They were being tracked. They were likely on an intercept course with the killers right now. A wave of renewed panic washed over him. Would they make it to the police department?

Veering hard left onto West 35 Street against the traffic light, Ryan headed inland. Within seconds, he saw as well as heard a car squealing around the corner two blocks behind them, swiftly closing the gap.

The car nudged them from behind. Ryan looked in the rearview mirror. A man was leaning out of the passenger side, aiming a gun. Ryan swerved and desperately pushed the gas pedal to the floor.