Chapter 8 - The Inside Man
I fought back with absolute fury as the two corrupt technicians tried to inject my neck.
I kicked the metal table violently, pinning Agent Reynolds against the concrete wall.
I realized the cartel had infiltrated the local federal field office to ensure I never made it to trial.
One of the technicians managed to wrap the heavy canvas straightjacket around my left arm.
The other raised the needle, aiming directly for my jugular vein.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the interrogation room was kicked open with tremendous force.
A tall man in a dark suit stepped into the room holding a suppressed handgun.
He didn't say a word; he simply shot the two technicians perfectly in the shoulders, dropping them instantly.
Agent Reynolds screamed and reached for her holster.
The mysterious man shot the gun right out of her hand, shattering her wrist in the process.
He walked over, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me out into the brightly lit hallway.
Dozens of unconscious, corrupt federal agents were scattered across the floor.
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, panting heavily.
The man holstered his weapon and pulled out a gold badge that looked very different from the FBI shields.
"I'm Vance, I work directly for the Department of Justice, Internal Affairs Division," he explained quickly.
Vance revealed that the DOJ had been secretly monitoring Agent Reynolds for months.
They knew she was on the cartel's payroll and stepped in just before she could silence me forever.
Vance led me up a hidden service elevator to a black helicopter waiting on the roof of the building.
As we lifted off into the stormy night sky, Vance handed me a tactical earpiece.
"We don't have time for fake bearer bonds or hidden wires anymore, Franklin," Vance yelled over the rotors.
He explained that Brandon and Hector were currently boarding a private jet at a remote airfield outside the city.
They were leaving with my stolen company assets on a secure hard drive.
If that plane left United States airspace, I would be completely ruined and they would be untouchable.
Vance handed me a heavy, loaded pistol.
He told me the DOJ couldn't officially raid the airstrip without federal warrants that would take hours to approve.
I had to stop that plane myself.
We flew low over the dark Texas landscape until the hidden airstrip came into view.
A sleek, white Gulfstream jet was idling on the runway, its engines whining loudly.
The helicopter pilot hovered aggressively just fifty feet above the tarmac.
"Jump!" Vance screamed, pointing to the ground.
I leaped from the helicopter into the freezing rain, rolling hard across the wet concrete.
I scrambled to my feet and sprinted wildly toward the rolling jet.
I raised the pistol and fired three shots directly into the massive front tire of the aircraft.
The tire exploded, dropping the nose of the plane onto the runway with a deafening screech of tearing metal.
The cabin door was forcefully kicked open from the inside.
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Hector stepped out onto the metal stairs, pointing an assault rifle directly at my chest.
But before Hector could pull the trigger, Brandon pushed the cartel boss violently down the stairs to save himself.
