Chapter 2 - SIXTY SECONDS TO HELL
Fifty-nine seconds.
The air on the red carpet seemed to turn to lead. The flashing bulbs of the paparazzi cameras, the distant hum of the Miami traffic, the murmurs of the wealthy elite—everything faded into a suffocating vacuum. Mateo could hear the blood roaring in his own ears. He stared at Agent Cross’s hand, watching the slow, deliberate slide of the security chief’s fingers slipping beneath the tailored lapel of his tuxedo jacket.
Governor Elias Thorne was a man who had built an empire by reading rooms and anticipating betrayals. He didn't ask questions. He didn't demand an explanation. The sheer terror radiating from the young valet's eyes, combined with the frantic scrawl on the ticket, was all the confirmation he needed.
Fifty seconds.
Cross’s hand gripped the grip of his suppressed Sig Sauer. His eyes shifted from Thorne to Mateo, recognizing the source of the leak. The coldness in the agent’s eyes morphed into lethal intent.
"Get down!" Thorne roared, a voice forged in boardrooms and political rallies, shattering the silence.
The Governor didn't retreat. Instead, moving with a speed that defied his age, Thorne threw his heavy frame forward, slamming his shoulder directly into Cross’s chest just as the weapon cleared the holster. The gun discharged with a muffled phut, the bullet shattering the tinted window of the rigged Escalade, missing Mateo's head by mere inches. Glass rained down on the crimson carpet like diamonds.
Thirty-five seconds.
Mateo didn't think. Instinct took over. He lunged forward, throwing his entire body weight into the struggle. He wrapped his arms around Cross’s knees, driving the highly trained operative backward. The three men crashed onto the concrete curb in a tangle of expensive suits and valet uniform polyester.
Cross was a machine. He kicked violently, his combat boot catching Mateo in the ribs with a sickening crack. Mateo gasped, all the air rushing from his lungs, but he refused to let go. Thorne was grappling for the gun, his hands wrapped desperately around Cross’s wrist, but the younger, stronger agent was slowly overpowering the politician.
Twenty seconds.
"The car!" Mateo screamed, spitting blood onto the pristine pavement. "It’s going to blow!"
The words broke the spell. The rest of Thorne’s security detail, previously paralyzed by the sudden chaos involving their own boss, finally sprang into action. But Thorne knew they were out of time.
"Run!" Thorne bellowed, abandoning the struggle. He grabbed Mateo by the back of his vest, hauling the valet to his feet with surprising strength.
Ten seconds.
Cross didn't pursue them. He scrambled to his feet, eyes darting to the dashboard clock visible through the shattered window. Realizing his window for a clean kill had evaporated, he bolted into the panicked crowd, melting into the chaos of screaming socialites and fleeing reporters.
Five seconds.
Thorne and Mateo dove behind the massive concrete pillar of the country club's grand entrance, pulling two bewildered Secret Service agents down with them. Mateo clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.
Zero.
The world turned white. The shockwave hit before the sound—a massive, invisible fist that punched the breath out of everyone in a fifty-yard radius. Then came the roar, a deafening, earth-shattering explosion that tore the three-ton armored Cadillac into a storm of burning shrapnel. The awning above them collapsed in a shower of sparks and torn canvas. A wall of blistering heat washed over Mateo, singeing the hair on his arms. The concussive force rattled his teeth and sent a high-pitched ringing drilling deep into his skull.
When Mateo finally opened his eyes, the driveway was a warzone. The Escalade was a twisted, flaming carcass of blackened steel. Sirens were already beginning to wail in the distance.
May you like
Beside him, Governor Thorne sat up, brushing burning debris from his ruined tuxedo. He looked at the flaming wreckage, then turned his piercing gaze to Mateo.
"You saved my life, kid," Thorne said, his voice eerily calm amidst the apocalyptic backdrop. "But if Cross rigged my car, he owns my detail. Which means we can't trust anyone with an earpiece." Thorne grabbed Mateo’s arm, his grip like a vice. "You’re coming with me."
