Chapter 286

Chapter 286

Richard was commanding from the rooftop of a building five hundred feet away.

Margaret picked up her coffee, her gaze sweeping over the car.

The door opened, and a man in a suit walked straight toward her.

"Ms. Kennedy, pleasure to meet you." The man sat across from her, wearing a professional smile.

Margaret pushed the metal briefcase beside her across the table.

"The data's here. Where's my person?"

"Easy there." The man opened the case to verify the contents.

Margaret's heart jumped into her throat.

That fake data had taken twenty hours to create—who knew how long it would fool them.

"Margaret, we have a problem."

Richard's voice suddenly turned grave. "That cleaner across the street is using special forces gear for his safety rope. That street musician's violin case is actually a weapon container."

Margaret's fingers tightened slightly.

"They're not ordinary kidnappers." Richard's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "This is an army."

The man finished verifying the data and closed the briefcase. "Data checks out. Your guy's in the alley out back—go get him yourself."

He left with the briefcase.

Margaret stayed seated.

She watched his retreating figure, then glanced at the several disguised "pedestrians."

They never intended to let her leave alive.

"Richard," she said quietly, "initiate Plan B."

"Absolutely not!" Richard's voice was sharp. "Evacuate immediately!"

"Too late." Margaret watched the man's figure disappear, then stood and deliberately splashed her unfinished coffee onto the ground.

This was the signal to force Plan B into action.

"I said it's too late."

She cut the communication and walked straight toward the dark, narrow alley.

On the rooftop, Richard watched that resolute figure, his knuckles white around the radio.

"Blackstone Squad! All units, move!"

The alley was narrow, flanked by the weathered walls of old buildings.

Margaret's footsteps echoed in the confined space before being swallowed by the shadows.

She could feel at least three sets of eyes tracking her movements.

Deep in the alley sat a black van, its rear doors shut tight.

The man who'd taken the briefcase stood beside it. Without turning around, he simply shifted slightly to reveal someone tied to a chair behind him.

Steven.

His mouth was gagged, hair disheveled, face ashen, eyes unfocused.

"Ms. Kennedy, inspect the goods." Amusement colored the man's voice.

Margaret stopped walking.

In that instant, an explosive crack rang out from the three o'clock position.

The coffee shop's glass window behind the man at the alley entrance shattered instantly.

Almost simultaneously, a glint of light flashed across the opposite rooftop.

The "special forces operative" disguised as a cleaner suddenly went rigid—his safety rope severed with surgical precision, and he fell soundlessly.

The man at the alley entrance reacted with lightning speed, reaching for his gun.

But as fast as he was, someone was faster.

The gentleman who'd been reading a newspaper on the street corner had somehow appeared behind him, the rolled-up paper now a rigid weapon, striking his neck with mechanical precision.

The man collapsed with a muffled grunt.

The entire sequence took less than three seconds.

Life on Lakehaven's streets continued uninterrupted, only the startled pigeons circling once before settling back to the ground.

In the alley, the man by the van's expression shifted dramatically.

Abandoning the van door, he lunged toward Margaret.

Margaret didn't retreat.

She sidestepped and lifted her foot, her heel striking the edge of a loose brick with perfect precision.

The other end of the brick popped up, releasing a marble-sized metal sphere that rolled across the ground.

The man stepped directly onto it, his balance instantly destroyed.

Margaret was already moving past him, her elbow driving into his ribs while her other hand emerged from her coat pocket, surgical blade thin as gossamer already slicing through Steven's restraints.

The man stumbled against the wall, his eyes wide with shock.

From the shadows at the alley entrance, Richard's Blackstone Squad materialized like ghosts, silently eliminating the remaining lookouts.

Silence returned.

Richard's voice crackled through her earpiece: "Status?"

"Targets neutralized. Hostage secure." Margaret helped the dazed Steven to his feet, her voice steady.

She glanced at the man slumped against the wall, who was staring at her like she was some kind of monster.

"Plan B," Margaret added calmly into her earpiece, "means I lead the assault while you handle cleanup."

Long silence stretched through the comm.

Finally, Richard's voice returned, carrying the distinct edge of gritted teeth: "Margaret, you'd better have an explanation for this."

"The explanation is," Margaret handed the semi-conscious Steven to an arriving team member, "none of your people would've stepped on that marble."

The safe house atmosphere was suffocating.

Though Steven had been rescued, his condition was dire.

"High-concentration psychotropic suppressants mixed with hallucinogens."

The team medic removed his mask, expression grim. "We've cleared the drug residue, but there's irreversible damage to the cerebral cortex. Specifically... permanent loss of certain memory blocks."

Richard stood before the one-way glass, studying Steven's vacant expression in the room beyond. "What does he remember?"

"Basic life skills and professional knowledge are intact. But everything after his abduction... complete blank."

The doctor paused. "He doesn't even remember being kidnapped. In his mind, he finished his vacation and came straight here."

The Shadow had erased every trace. They'd left a living witness who couldn't speak.

Margaret approached the doctor with a grave expression. "The drug sample?"

"Right here." The doctor handed her a sealed vial.

Without hesitation, Margaret dialed the encrypted line to Margaret New Energy Group's technical director. "I need a complete analysis of this sample within thirty minutes."

Thirty minutes later, the detailed report arrived.

Margaret scanned each line, her gaze finally settling on the end—a section marked "unknown" for a synthetic compound the analysis system couldn't match in existing chemical databases.

But the system noted: its molecular structure showed 72% similarity to "Dream Snatcher," a black market drug from thirty years ago.

That powerful hallucinogen could strip short-term memories and implant false scenarios. Due to its devastating brain damage, it had long been classified as a top-level prohibited substance.

Margaret picked up the tablet and approached Richard by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He was gazing out at the night, his silhouette stretched long and lean.

"Richard." She held the tablet toward him.

Richard didn't take it, his eyes still fixed on the darkness outside.

"Still mad?" Margaret asked.

"I'm thinking about whether we'd be dragging the Lakehaven River right now if that marble hadn't worked." His voice revealed nothing.

"We wouldn't," Margaret said. "There were two manhole covers in that alley. I brought lock picks."

Richard finally turned to look at her.

Margaret ignored his stare and pointed to the report on the tablet. "Look at this."

When the words "Dream Snatcher" hit his vision, the atmosphere around Richard transformed completely.

The air seemed to drain away.

He stared at those two words, his face gradually turning pale.

"Richard?"