Chapter 16 - The Rat in the Ranks
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Thirty minutes later, inside a fortified Ferraro safehouse hidden behind an industrial laundry facility in Olneyville, Dante Ferraro was pacing the concrete floor like a caged lion while a private trauma doctor stitched five inches of torn muscle across Delaney’s left shoulder.
Outside in the courtyard, twelve armed syndicate soldiers stood guard around Noel’s room.
"Voronin," Dante hissed, slamming his fist into a steel filing cabinet so hard the metal dented. "That Russian dog shouldn't have been able to cross the state line without my spotters flagging him, let alone know which two guards were parked outside St. Cecilia’s and which frequency their radios were running on!"
Delaney winced as the doctor knotted the final suture, her eyes fixed on the bloodstained rifle she had taken off the mercenary at the music school. Clipped to the tactical rail of the rifle was a small digital encrypted receiver.
"He didn't guess the frequency, Dante," Delaney said grimly, pulling her black shirt back over her bandaged shoulder. "Look at the serial tag on that radio transceiver. That’s not military gear. That’s a high-band Motorola unit issued to private hotel security."
Dante stopped pacing. He walked over to the table and picked up the transceiver.
"The Meridian," Dante murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
"Marcus Vance," Delaney said, standing up from the exam table and flexing her stiff left fingers. "The head of security at the rooftop lounge. He walked away when I broke Preston’s wrist, and he put me and Noel in the service elevator. I thought he was doing it out of respect for your name. He wasn't. He was isolating us so he could track where I took her, and today he sold your guards’ rotation schedule to Preston Hollis."
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Right on cue, Dante’s encrypted phone buzzed on the steel table. An unknown number flashed across the screen. Dante hit speaker.
"Hello, Ferraro," Preston Hollis’s manic, breathless voice echoed through the room. "Call off your dogs and bring my father’s bearer bonds to Pier 9 in one hour—or you’ll never see your little sister alive again."
