The black smoke pouring from the van’s exhaust pipes tasted like scorched diesel, unburned fuel, and bitter sulfur.
Sub-Director Vance-Krebs slammed his foot to the floorboards.
The heavy transmission of Notary Van N-1 shrieked in protest as four hundred horsepower surged into the drive wheels. The dual rear tires spun against the wet cobblestones, spraying grey slurry, crushed rock, and hot rubber smoke against the brick gateposts.
Vance-Krebs wasn’t just trying to drive away.
To ensure Julian couldn’t pursue him on foot, the Sub-Director had hitched a three-inch towing chain from the van’s rear pintle hook to the center stanchion of the North Gate. He planned to use the van’s four-ton momentum to yank the entire wrought-iron gate assembly out of the masonry. That impact would drop fifty feet of spiked iron pickets onto Julian, Elena, and Lin Mei.
“He’s dragging the fence!” Elena yelled, grabbing Lin Mei’s shoulder and hauling her back three paces from the threshold.
The heavy steel chain groaned, lifting off the wet gravel like a striking serpent. The iron links tightened with a violent, metallic shudder.
The brick mortar around the gate hinges began to crack, showering the path with lime dust and masonry grit.
