Chapter 7 - The Pilot’s Leverage
The cold steel barrel pressing against Chloe’s temple sent a sharp jolt of adrenaline through her veins, but years of living under Arthur’s roof had taught her one vital survival skill: never let your captor see you panic.
“You’re making a very expensive mistake,” Chloe said, her voice remarkably even as she kept her hands resting palms-up on the dashboard. “The federal tower just cut your port engine. That jet isn't going anywhere, and neither are you once Marcus gets back from the runway.”
The pilot, a thick-set man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, chuckled darkly, shifting the weight of his suppressed pistol. “Marcus is currently busy dodging warning shots from my co-pilot on the other side of the tarmac. You and I, however, are going for a little walk toward the maintenance hangar.”
“Why protect Arthur?” Chloe asked, stalling for time as her fingers slowly inched toward the emergency distress button embedded in the center console of the SUV. “He’s finished. The federal government has his assets, his wife is in cuffs, and his company is facing liquidation. Whatever he’s paying you, it won't cover the federal prison sentence you’ll inherit by helping him escape.”
“Arthur isn't the one paying me,” the pilot whispered, leaning in closer so his breath brushed her ear. “Your real father sends his regards.”
Chloe’s heart skipped a beat, the blood draining instantly from her face. The words hung in the damp air like a physical curse.
“My... what?” she whispered, the carefully constructed reality of her entire life fracturing in an instant.
“You never really wondered why Arthur kept you around after your mother’s ‘accident,’ did you?” the pilot sneered, hooking his arm around her collar and yanking her forcibly out of the passenger seat onto the wet concrete of the access road. “He didn't adopt you out of kindness. You were the insurance policy on the primary trust fund.”
Before Chloe could process the terrifying implication of his words, the blinding headlights of Marcus’s vehicle cut across the tarmac, followed by the sharp crack of a warning shot echoing off the metal siding of the hangars.
“Let her go! Federal agents!” Marcus shouted, sprinting across the gravel with his weapon drawn, his boots splashing through standing puddles of water.
The pilot grunted, using Chloe as a human shield as he backed away toward the shadows of an old corrugated steel maintenance building near the perimeter fence. “Stay back, Vance! One more step and I put a round through her spine!”
Chloe gritted her teeth against the pain of his grip, her eyes locked on Marcus. Despite the danger, she subtly shifted her weight, sliding her hand into the pocket of her white cardigan where the tiny micro-SD card rested.
“Don’t listen to him, Marcus!” Chloe shouted across the gap. “He doesn't have clearance! He’s just a hired gun!”
“Shut your mouth!” the pilot snarled, tightening his grip on her neck and dragging her backward into the dark, cavernous interior of the abandoned hangar.
The heavy sliding door slammed shut behind them with a deafening, metallic crash, plunging the cavernous space into near-total darkness, illuminated only by shafts of pale grey light piercing through holes in the rusted roof overhead.
Chloe stood frozen in the center of the dusty concrete floor, listening to the heavy footsteps of the pilot echoing in the empty space as he moved to secure the deadbolt on the inside of the door.
“End of the road, Chloe,” a voice echoed from the darkness—not the pilot’s voice, but a voice so chillingly familiar that it made her blood run cold.
A shadow detached itself from the stacked oil drums near the back wall, stepping into the pale shaft of moonlight streaming through the roof. It wasn't Arthur.
It was a man Chloe had not seen in fifteen years—a man official family records stated had died in a plane crash off the coast of Maine when she was nine years old: her uncle, Julian Vance.
Julian smiled grimly, adjusting the lapels of his immaculate dark overcoat as he stared down at his stunned niece.
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“Surprised to see me, Chloe? Arthur is an idiot, but he was always very good at following instructions,” Julian said smoothly, stepping closer as the pilot lowered his weapon and fell back into line behind him. “Now... hand over the microcard before I have to take it from your cold, dead fingers.”
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