Chapter 8 - The Private Tarmac
The mocking text message from Elena only fueled the cold determination burning in my chest.
Marcus drove his armored SUV recklessly through the empty streets toward the private aviation terminal.
I sat in the passenger seat, tracing the offshore account numbers on my encrypted laptop.
I had less than an hour to intercept the massive wire transfer before the funds cleared in the Cayman Islands.
Marcus broke the silence, admitting that he was surprised I had actually abandoned my own son to the police.
I stared out the window into the dense fog, my voice completely devoid of emotion.
I explained that saving him from a jail cell would only ensure he remained a weak, gullible victim for the rest of his life.
We crashed through the chain-link gates of the private airfield, ignoring the blaring security alarms.
A sleek, unmarked Gulfstream jet was idling on the runway, preparing for immediate takeoff.
Marcus slammed on the brakes, blocking the jet's path with his heavy vehicle.
We both jumped out of the car as the boarding stairs of the aircraft slowly began to retract.
Elena stood in the doorway of the plane, clutching a silver briefcase tightly against her chest.
She looked down at me with a twisted, victorious smile on her beautiful face.
She shouted over the roaring engines that I was too late, and the money was already gone.
Marcus pulled his weapon and aimed it at the cockpit, threatening to shoot the pilot if the plane moved another inch.
Elena simply laughed, pulling a small remote detonator from her designer coat pocket.
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She announced that she had planted a massive explosive device underneath the fuselage of Marcus's SUV.
She held her thumb directly over the red trigger, warning us to step back or die in a fiery blaze.
