Chapter 8 - The Ghost Flight
The loud, echoing sound of the fake gunshot looped repeatedly in Leah's mind.
Silas picked up the plastic weapon and furiously snapped it in half with his bare hands.
"It was another distraction," Silas snarled, kicking Marcus hard in the ribs.
"He just needed to keep us busy in here while they finished the job up front."
Leah ran to the small window and forcefully pulled up the plastic shade.
The sky outside was pitch black, but she could see the terrifyingly close outline of jagged, snow-capped mountains.
"We are flying entirely too low," Leah said, pressing her face against the cold glass.
Silas ran back to the cockpit door and began ripping apart the damaged keypad.
"Marcus was never planning on landing this plane safely," Silas said, pulling red and blue wires from the wall.
"He wanted us to think we were going to a private airstrip."
"Why would he do that?" Leah asked, stepping back from the terrifying view out the window.
"Because if the syndicate shoots down a commercial jet, it starts an international war," Silas explained.
"But if a plane just tragically vanishes into the treacherous mountains, it is ruled an accident."
Silas pulled out a heavy tablet and connected a data cable to the exposed wires of the door.
Lines of green code began flying across the screen as he tried desperately to hack the locking mechanism.
"I have roughly four minutes before we hit the mountain ridge," Silas muttered.
Leah turned her attention back to Marcus, who was slowly regaining consciousness on the floor.
The giant guard laughed, spitting dark blood onto the luxurious carpet.
"You cannot hack that door, boss," Marcus wheezed.
"I changed the master encryption key before we even took off."
Silas swore loudly, slamming his fist against the unyielding reinforced steel.
"Give me the code, Marcus, or I swear I will throw you out the emergency exit," Silas threatened.
"I am a dead man either way," Marcus smiled grimly.
Leah knelt next to the guard, staring intently at his thick wrists bound by the plastic ties.
As Marcus strained against the cuffs, the sleeve of his expensive jacket pulled back slightly.
There was a small, intricate tattoo burned deep into the inside of his left wrist.
It was a sinister symbol of a snake wrapped tightly around a broken compass.
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Leah felt absolutely all the blood drain from her face.
It was the exact same symbol her mother used to stamp on her confidential "work" envelopes.
