Chapter 10 - THE SIEGE OF WACKER DRIVE
The rain stopped at 4:45 AM.
A low, suffocating blanket of fog rolled off Lake Michigan, swallowing the towering skyscrapers of downtown Chicago in white mist.
The streets were deserted, slick with grease and standing water.
Dominic Sterling’s new sixty-eight-story tower loomed above Wacker Drive like an obsidian blade slicing into the clouds.
Around the perimeter of the building, eighteen private security guards in black combat fatigues patrolled with trained Malinois attack dogs.
Security was tighter than a federal reserve branch.
Two blocks away, hidden in the subterranean service alley behind the Chicago Theater, Adrian and Emma sat in the idling Charger.
Adrian had changed into a dry tactical sweater and dark cargo pants taken from the mill’s emergency cache.
He had strapped a fresh bandage tightly across his bleeding shoulder.
Emma had tied her hair back with a strip of linen.
She had an iPad resting on her knees, displaying the structural wireframe of Sterling Tower.
"The main lobby has biometric retinal scanners," Emma explained, tracing the line with her finger.
"The underground parking has vehicle weight sensors."
"The helipad is locked down by thermal surveillance."
"So how do we get in?" Adrian asked.
Emma tapped the base of the building, forty feet below street level.
"The Chicago Freight Tunnel network."
Adrian’s eyebrows raised.
"The 1906 coal rail system?"
"It connects directly to the building's sub-basement intake," Emma said with a sharp grin.
"When we dug the foundation last year, the city required us to preserve the historical drainage connection."
"We installed an iron access hatch behind the auxiliary electrical transformer."
"It's bypassable with a standard mechanical wrench."
Adrian looked at her with pure delight.
"You are an absolute menace, Miss Hayes."
"I am an architect with a grudge, Mr. Thorne."
Ten minutes later, they were forty feet beneath the streets of Chicago, walking along the damp, curved limestone walls of the forgotten 1906 freight tunnel.
Centuries-old soot clung to the ceiling.
Water dripped from rusted iron pipes.
Emma led the way with a pocket flashlight.
She stopped beside a heavy steel hatch set into a modern poured-concrete wall.
She pulled a heavy adjustable wrench from her pack.
She clamped it onto the locking bolt and threw her weight into the turn.
Clank.
The bolt snapped open.
Adrian pushed the heavy hatch inward.
They climbed through into the humming, climate-controlled sub-basement of Sterling Tower.
Giant fiber-optic server racks blinked with green and blue LEDs across an acre of polished concrete floor.
Adrian drew his suppressed Colt, sweeping the corridors with trained, lethal precision.
"Floor sixty-four is the private executive suite," Emma whispered, pointing toward an unmarked steel door labeled Service Elevator C.
"This elevator runs on an independent hydraulic circuit."
"It doesn't ping the main security console in the lobby."
Adrian stepped into the elevator, holding the door for her.
He pressed the button for the sixty-fourth floor.
The elevator surged upward silently.
Thirty floors.
Forty floors.
Fifty floors.
Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides.
Adrian reached over.
His hand closed over hers, warm, steady, and grounding.
She looked up at him.
"When this is over," Adrian murmured, his eyes holding hers, "I'm buying you dinner."
"Real dinner?" she whispered.
"The best restaurant in Chicago."
"What about sesame noodles?"
Adrian smiled softly.
"We'll start with the noodles."
Ding.
The elevator chime broke the silence.
The doors slid open.
The sixty-fourth floor was a vast, open-concept cathedral of steel, glass, and dark marble.
In the center of the room, seated at an enormous glass desk overlooking the Chicago skyline, was David Miller.
He had two laptops open, watching progress bars crawl across multiple monitors.
UPLOAD STATUS: 92% COMPLETE.
Standing behind him, sipping scotch from a crystal tumbler, was Dominic Sterling.
Dominic wore an immaculate bespoke three-piece gray suit.
Four heavily armed bodyguards flanked the perimeter of the desk.
David looked up from the screen as the elevator doors parted.
His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering across the white marble floor.
"Adrian?" David gasped, his voice cracking into high-pitched panic.
Dominic Sterling didn't drop his glass.
He turned slowly, a cruel, mocking sneer spreading across his aristocratic face.
May you like
"Well," Dominic murmured, setting his scotch down.
"Look what the river dragged up."
