Chapter 9 - The Interrogation in the Garage
Ten minutes later, I slammed the side door of the armored transport open, tossing a tear-gas canister inside. As the choke-gas filled the vehicle, two remaining lieutenants tumbled out coughing and gasping for air. I caught the lead tactical commander by his throat, dragging him into the estate’s detached garage.
Claire locked the heavy garage doors behind us, standing guard with her rifle held at the ready. I bound the commander to a steel chair beneath the harsh glare of a single hanging work light.
"Who gave the final order for tonight?" I asked, sharpening a broadhead hunting knife against a whetstone.
The commander spat blood onto my boots, grinning maniacally. "You're too late, Vale! Victor is already consolidating your assets across the city. By sunrise, every lieutenant in your syndicate will take an oath to him or get a bullet in the brain. You're a ghost!"
Claire walked over calmly, holding a small medical syringe she had retrieved from her emergency kit. She tapped the needle, purging a tiny bubble of air. "This is concentrated potassium chloride, Captain," she said in a sweet, conversational tone. "Injected into your vein, it will induce total cardiac arrest within forty-five seconds. It is extraordinarily painful. Or you can give Mr. Vale the master access codes to Victor's penthouse tower."
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The commander looked at Claire’s cold, unblinking eyes and broke. He realized, as I had, that a battle-trained surgeon knew precisely how to inflict maximum agony without leaving a mark. Within two minutes, he surrendered the security bypass codes, the shift schedules, and Victor’s exact location in the heart of downtown Chicago.
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