National Route 7 stretched across the landscape like a gray scar, cutting through hills and valleys, bypassing towns and villages that had grown accustomed to the rumble of government vehicles passing in the night.
It was an airport highway, designed for emergencies, for the transport of dignitaries, for the kind of travel that ordinary citizens were not permitted to experience.
Security was tight, cameras monitored every inch of the road, checkpoints dotted the route at irregular intervals, and patrol cars swept the asphalt with mechanical precision.
But Fiona's vehicle was recognized. The black military-grade bulletproof car bore markings that signaled to every scanner, every camera, every guard that the occupants were not to be delayed. They were World Savers, a designation that carried weight, that opened doors, that silenced questions before they could be asked.
Fiona drove with both hands on the wheel, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her mind racing faster than the car.
