Chapter 1
Max sprinted across Lexington Avenue, faster than his legs had ever carried him before. He wore someone else’s gym clothes, had a USB pen drive shoved down the front of his underpants, and was running for his life. The trail of money and deceit had finally caught up with him. But the paycheck of a lifetime was almost his. All Max had to do was make it before they found him.
He flew down 42nd Street, keeping a lookout for a break in traffic. Head down, his vision never drifted upward, avoiding any eyes in the sky. He only had a few minutes at best. Again and again, his mouth sucked in the already hot morning air.
The traffic gap came, and Max bolted across 42nd outside Foot Locker. Another stroke of luck gave him 3rdAvenue. The traffic lights were on his side. There was no way anyone could get a drone in the sky in time. He was going to make it.
The small USB drive shoved down the front of his underwear was by now surely covered in sweat—just the way he had been given it. That small drive had cost too much.
He kept running.
He rounded the corner and saw his friend standing with two security guards on the sidewalk across the street. Max knew they were looking for him. If he could get to them, he would be safe. Fifty yards was all. Fifty yards from surviving the worst four days of his life. He could make it.
He looked down 2nd Avenue. The traffic was thick and moving fast. Trucks rolled down the street, never giving a thought to braking. He had no way of getting across until the lights changed. He jogged lightly on the spot, ready to pounce on any opportunity. Max’s eyes darted back and forth, looking, hoping, praying for enough of a gap to make his move. But too many cars moved too quickly. His heart raced. He was almost there.
He glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but it felt right. It was instinct now. He was on a busy New York City sidewalk, surrounded by the first suits of the day on their way to work. Any single one of them could be working for the people trying to find him. Any one of them could be the man with the raspy voice.
Max looked across the road. Two cops stood on the other corner. He could only hope they weren’t involved.
He just had to make it fifty yards.
He glanced up to the metallic-black crossing light suspended on the other side. The blockish red man still told him the same thing: No go. Max wished it—willed it—to change. It had to change. It couldn’t stay red forever.
Then Max saw it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: a single quadcopter hovering above the street. He looked up at it. It was black and still.
Suddenly the small barrel suspended below it flashed, and a single gunshot pierced the air.
