Inkchanger

11: Stop & Go

Cock, Zara thought, her shaking hands gripping the steering wheel like a passenger on the Titanic would a piece of floating debris. Now what?

She glanced up into the rearview mirror and saw... nothing.

There was the black SUV looming a few dozen feet behind her but no sign of Agent 97. Every hair on her body rose to attention, and all the hot excitement from the chase evaporated and allowed a trickle of icy fear take its place. She scanned around, looking for any sign of him.

Windshield – nothing.

Passenger side – nothing.

Rear window – nothing.

Driver's side - ...

Snick.

She didn't have time to think as her seatbelt was cut away. Black-gloved hands grabbed her narrow shoulders, dragging her effortlessly through the open driver's side window. One second she'd been trying to pick out a human figure in the trees; the next, her knees were slamming against concrete as she was hauled by the armpits towards the black SUV.

"Miss Zara Carter, I am taking you into protective custody," Agent 97 said flatly as he frog-marched her to his car. "You have no official rights in this circumstance, and as such, I will not read you any. I will be transporting you from this location whether or not you agree to be transported." His iron hold didn't waver, despite Zara's energetic twisting and attempts to bite his arms. "If you continue to resist, I am authorized to use any means necessary to ensure your cooperation. You will arrive at the holding facility alive and intact but possibly unconscious." The droning voice would've fooled anyone listening. He wasn't forcibly detaining a squirming, wild girl with one hand; he was reading the quarterly report to a roomful of bureaucrats.

Despite Zara's vigorous efforts to escape, Agent 97 covered the intervening distance to his vehicle with robotic efficiency. His left hand opened the back passenger door, and his right pressed down on Zara's shoulder, urging her to climb into the seat without more protests.

Yeah, right.

She pushed back with her remaining strength, bracing herself against the door frame, and propping one foot against the runner for leverage. But she hardly budged. Agent 97 shifted his grip with lightning speed, sliding his detaining hand from her arm and closing it around the back of her neck, pressing her forward. Zara grunted and screwed up her face with the effort of resisting, sweat pouring off her; he merely stood his ground, face stoic. They locked that way – Zara fighting to break free, Agent 97 simply holding her where she was.

It only took a few seconds for Zara to wish she'd lifted more weights. Muscles quivered and bones creaked with the effort of resistance. We can't hold out much longer, Captain! She willed her joints to lock in place. She silently prayed to whatever god would listen. But it was no use – her body gave up, and she plunged into the SUV's rear bench seat, a tangle of bloodless limbs.

She sprawled face down against the cool leather on the verge of bursting into tears, her anger and energy spent. She heard a thud behind her and waited for the engine to start. Waited for Agent 97 to take her to her doom.

And waited.

And waited.

Morbidly curious that nothing had happened, Zara risked a glance over her shoulder.

Standing in the open doorway where the imposingly-cut figure of her jailer should have been was a shortish, roundish, girlish silhouette, holding what looked like a twisted stop sign.