Gilded Cage

Donahue waited for them in the back alley of the coffee shop. He’d got them an SUV with black tinted windows to deter the traffic cameras. His friend had explained that the police used facial recognition software to narrow down wanted lawbreakers. “Ready to rock?”

“Am I ever?”

“Good. I got you everything locked and loaded.”

Brandon craned his neck into the half-drawn SUV’s window. Donahue had arranged for some weapons, too. He saw an automatic rifle and a couple of semi-automatic Berettas stowed in the backseat, complete with extra magazines and hand grenades. Brandon grimaced. The memory of desert war flashed all over again. Donahue was the type of guy who adopted a credo of ‘better safe than sorry.’ He always had condoms and guns on his person at all times. His obsession bordered on a twisted compulsive disorder.

“Are we expecting a party tonight?” Brandon asked.

“The Yak issued a bounty for your head. It’s better—”

“Safe than sorry, yeah, yeah.”

“Then you’ll need this.” Donahue shoved a ballistic vest into his hands. “I’ve just talked to MacCunnen and he has his men waiting for you on the base. Once you’re there, your ass is covered.”

“Copy that.”

“Good luck.”

Chapter Seven

Lillian sat quietly in her seat as their car zoomed past the city limits towards Yokohama. Outside her window, the glimmering seashore stretched as far as her eyes could see. Brandon had told her his connection had arranged a way out of Japan through the American naval base in Yokosuka. Instead of taking the major highway, they took scenic routes through small roads to avoid being captured by the traffic cameras. If they had taken a bullet train, the travel itself would have only taken about forty minutes. But since Stanford and his minions had flagged them on high alert, they couldn’t afford to be seen on public transportation. Lillian didn’t mind the detour. Despite the situation they were in, she was excited to see the scenery. The last time she’d travelled this far was when she was seven, and her father had taken her to England to their summer home. The time she’d nearly drowned in the pool.

Brandon had slipped into his quiet but highly alert mode again. Lillian didn’t dare bother him with small talk, even though she wanted to. The suspense was killing her. He kept glancing at the rear view mirror and the GPS console in the dashboard as if he expected company. Twenty minutes into the ride, he slammed on the gas, speeding ahead.

Lillian sank lower under her tight seatbelt, clutching onto each side of her seat. Her heart thumped as Brandon drove like a maniac, zigzagging between several cars. Lillian peeked in the rear view mirror. Two black vehicles tailed them at the same speed. They were being followed.

“Oh, shit,” she mumbled.

“Hang on tight, Lillian.” Brandon didn’t lose his cool. His face looked as stoic as somebody who was bored attending a Sunday sermon. He changed the shift stick and hit the pedal. The car tore through the intersection.

Then she heard gunshots.

“Get down,” Brandon ordered.

Lillian shrunk in her seat. The mirror on her side exploded. Behind her, shards of glass showered the seat when a stream of bullets hit the back windshield.

“Fuck.” Brandon revved the engine and blasted the speed.

She peeked through the dashboard. Her heart sank when she saw two huge black cars that looked like tanks blocking their way.

“Hold on tight, babe. This is going to be rough.”

She ducked lower and clawed her seat. Was he mad? Was he going to plough through those cars? Lillian opened one eye, peeking at him. Brandon wasn’t joking. His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened. His lips thinned into a grim slit. No. He wasn’t joking at all.

The car accelerated faster. Lillian could feel the vibrations through the seat. Silently, she prayed that they would make it in one piece. Another shower of bullets sang between them. Lillian shut her eyes and prayed harder. She heard Brandon groan and suddenly, he lost control of the car. Tires screeched. They spun. The car hit a hard object and turned upside down. Lillian screamed. The car’s airbags sprang loose and suffocated her.

She blacked out.

Lillian coughed. A vicious headache slammed her cranial. She felt weak and shaky as if she’d recovered from a long, nasty cold. The side of her jaw hurt. Her left leg, too. She moved her hands. Fingers. She was fine. But Brandon wasn’t.

She saw blood oozing from his shoulder. He had been shot and was unconscious from the crash. One side of his face was covered in blood.

“Brandon!” Lillian shook him. Her heart sank to her guts. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t die. “Brandon.”

He stirred and coughed.

&n