James squeezed through the opening. The jagged, fractured edges of the ancient iron grated against the fabric of his jacket and scraped painfully along his ribs. He was forced to contort his body, pulling and pushing himself out of the pipe.
He landed hard on the slick, moss-covered stone embankment—a narrow ledge barely two feet wide. The roar of the river was deafening now, a churning, powerful torrent twenty feet below.
He pulled his head out and immediately looked back.
The two giants, the agents of the woman in the silk scarf, were framed in the black circle of the vent opening. Their faces were contorted with exhaustion and cold fury.
"Nowhere to go, Mr. James," the leader sneered, his voice only just audible above the river. "The ledge ends there. You come back now."
James stood, breathing heavily, the wind whipping his hair. He was cornered. Thirty feet down to an ice-cold river that moved with the speed of a freight train. Or back into the hands of an organization that promised "unprecedented tea" and delivered blunt force.
He was no swimmer. He had his caddy, containing the chip. He had no weapon.
He made his decision. It was a choice based on the certainty of one outcome versus the uncertainty of another. He preferred chaos to capture.
He took one final, deep breath of the cold, clean air. He held the Earl Grey Caddy tightly, pressing it against his chest with both hands.
"I do apologize, gentlemen," James called out, his voice thin but resolute. "But I find that a bracing river swim is often preferable to an unpleasant conversation. Good day."
And with a theatricality that defied his fear, he launched himself from the narrow ledge, pushing off with his feet. He didn't jump straight down; he angled his body out, clearing the embankment.
The world turned into a terrifying, rushing blur of stone, water, and air. He hit the water with a sharp, sickening impact, the shock of the cold instantly stealing his breath and knocking the air from his lungs. The river, frigid and unforgiving, closed over his head.
His last coherent thought before the shock took hold was a desperate, panicked internal inquiry: "I hope the caddy is watertight."
He tumbled end over end, dragged instantly under the surface by the river's relentless current. He was gone.