Chapter 9 - The Airfield At Midnight
The harsh halogen lights of the private airfield cut through the foggy night, casting long, menacing shadows across the tarmac where a sleek Gulfstream private jet sat idling with its turbines whining at a high pitch.
Adrian stared at the television screen in the hospital room, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. On the live feed, two men in dark suits were escorting Clara across the pavement toward the jet's open boarding stairs. Clara was struggling fiercely, her hands bound behind her back, while a third man carried a small pink bundle cradled tightly against his chest.
"That's Lily," Adrian muttered, his voice dead and terrifyingly calm. He stood up slowly, wiping the blood from his torn knuckles onto his jeans.
"Miller, you can't just storm an active airfield," Vance warned, reaching out to grab his arm. "Sterling has private security with federal-grade clearance. If you go down there alone, you'll be dead before you reach the perimeter fence."
"Then you're going to help me stop them," Adrian said, fixing his piercing gaze on the detective.
"I'm a cop, Adrian. I have to call in tactical backup," Vance argued, pulling out his radio.
"There's no time for backup!" Adrian yelled, grabbing the radio right out of Vance's hand and tossing it against the concrete wall, shattering it into pieces. "By the time your unit gets authorization, that plane will be over the Atlantic!"
Vance stared at him in shock for a second, then let out a sharp sigh of resignation. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a spare set of heavy handcuffs, and tossed them to Adrian.
"If we get caught, I'm throwing you under the bus, and I'm keeping your story out of the report," Vance said, pulling his service weapon and checking the magazine.
"Deal," Adrian replied, snatching the handcuffs off the floor and sliding them into his back pocket.
They raced back down the stairwell, bursting out into the hospital parking lot where Vance’s cruiser sat idling. Tires screeched as Vance threw the car into drive, peeling out of the parking bay and tearing through the deserted city streets toward the private aviation sector on the edge of town.
During the frantic fifteen-minute drive, Adrian pulled the digital recorder from his pocket one last time. He pressed play on the final encrypted file that had downloaded during the garage attack.
A familiar voice filled the cabin—Marcus Sterling speaking calmly into a phone.
"Make sure the father watches them board," Sterling’s voice echoed clearly over the speaker. "He needs to understand that running away from me is a fatal mistake."
Vance glanced sideways at Adrian as they approached the perimeter security gate of the airfield.
"He's expecting you, Adrian," Vance said grimly. "This is a trap."
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"I know," Adrian replied, rolling down his window as they approached the automated chain-link gate. "Let's spring it."
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