Chapter 13 - The Broken Deal
Gunfire echoed like thunder across the Swiss airfield, masking the sound of the pouring rain.
I crouched behind the thick rubber tire of the landing gear, pressing Eleanor firmly against the cold metal strut of the aircraft.
"Stay down and do not move," I ordered her, my voice slicing through her paralyzing shock.
Victor was moving like a ghost through the fog, using the heavy mist to obscure his position. He dropped a second mercenary with a precise headshot, but the remaining four operators opened up with fully automatic suppressive fire, shredding the fuselage of our jet.
Arthur Vance had already retreated to the safety of the armored SUVs, screaming commands from behind bulletproof glass.
I was unarmed, cornered, and relying entirely on the man I had tried to kill yesterday to save my wife.
The irony tasted like blood in my mouth.
I peeked around the landing gear, watching the tactical operators advance in a tight, disciplined formation. They were trying to flank Victor, pushing him out from behind the fuel truck where he had taken cover.
I needed a weapon.
I looked at the first mercenary Victor had killed, lying in a growing pool of blood about fifteen feet away from us.
An M4 carbine was slung across his chest.
"Lucian, no!" Eleanor screamed, realizing what I was about to do.
"I love you, Eleanor," I said, looking her directly in the eyes. "If I don't make it back behind this tire, you run for the terminal."
I didn't wait for her to argue.
I dove out from behind the landing gear, sliding across the wet concrete on my stomach as a hail of bullets tracked my movement.
Sparks flew from the tarmac as I reached the dead mercenary. I grabbed the carbine, ripped it from his tactical sling, and rolled violently to my left just as the concrete where I had been lying was pulverized by rifle fire.
I popped up behind a stack of wooden cargo pallets and returned fire.
I wasn't an enforcer like Victor, but I hadn't survived seven years at the top of the syndicate by avoiding violence.
I fired in controlled bursts, dropping the third operator with two rounds to the center mass.
"Victor!" I shouted over the deafening noise. "Crossfire on the left!"
Victor didn't need further instruction. He broke from behind the fuel truck, sprinting toward a concrete barrier while I kept the remaining three mercenaries pinned down.
Arthur realized his elite hit squad was rapidly losing to a mob boss and a rogue enforcer.
"Kill them! Kill them now!" Arthur shrieked from the SUV, his polished demeanor entirely shattered.
One of the mercenaries pulled a fragmentation grenade from his vest, preparing to flush me out from behind the wooden pallets.
Before he could pull the pin, Victor’s pistol barked twice.
The mercenary collapsed, dropping the live grenade directly at the feet of his remaining two comrades.
The explosion was deafening, sending a shockwave of heat and shrapnel across the tarmac. The blast shattered the windows of the armored SUVs and threw Arthur Vance to the ground.
I didn't wait for the smoke to clear.
I sprinted back to the landing gear, grabbing Eleanor's hand and pulling her to her feet.
"Run!" I commanded.
We raced across the runway, Victor falling into step right behind us.
We reached a sleek black Audi parked near the perimeter fence, its engine idling—a getaway car clearly staged by Arthur for his own escape.
Victor shot the lock off the chain-link gate, and I threw Eleanor into the passenger seat.
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As I threw the car into drive and smashed through the perimeter fence, I looked in the rearview mirror.
Arthur Vance was standing in the burning wreckage of his ambush, his face twisted in absolute fury, watching his empire slip through his fingers once again.
