Chapter 11 - Altitude Zero
The live video feed flickered to life on the computer monitor, casting a harsh, blue glare across the dark ballroom. The camera was mounted near the front bulkhead of a private luxury jet cabin, capturing every detail of the interior. Sitting strapped into a leather passenger seat near the emergency exit was a woman who looked almost identical to Clara, right down to the dark brown hair and the severe bruise over her right eye.
However, her eyes weren't filled with fear; they were wide with a terrifying, vacant calm. A medical IV bag hung from a chrome pole beside her, slowly dripping a clear, viscous liquid into her arm.
“Elena?” Clara breathed, pressing her palms against the cold glass of the monitor as if she could somehow reach through the screen.
On the video feed, the cabin door leading to the cockpit slid open. A man in a pilot’s uniform stepped out, pulling off his cap. It wasn't a commercial pilot; it was one of Julian’s closest enforcers, a man known in the underworld as Viktor. Viktor walked over to Elena, checked the IV drip, and then pulled a satellite phone from his pocket, dialing a number.
A split second later, the secure terminal on Arthur’s desk began to ring.
Arthur looked down at the ringing phone, then back at Marcus, who was still tied up on the floor. With a steady hand, Arthur hit the speakerphone button.
“You’re cutting it close, Viktor,” Marcus called out from the floor, his voice dripping with arrogance.
“cargo is secure, Mr. Vance,” Viktor’s voice crackled through the speaker, distorted by satellite static but perfectly clear. “We’re currently cruising at thirty-five thousand feet over the mid-Atlantic. ETA to the drop zone is four hours. What do we do with the package once we land?”
Arthur stepped over to the desk, leaning down toward the microphone. “Turn the plane around, Viktor. Now. If you cross international airspace with my daughter, there is no army on earth that will protect you from what I’m going to do.”
A cold, mocking laugh echoed from the speaker. “Arthur Vance. Always the king, even when your castle is burning down around you. Unfortunately, my instructions don't come from you. They come from the board. And the board has decided that the Vance dynasty ends tonight—at altitude zero.”
On the video monitor, Viktor reached out and pressed a button on the cabin wall. A red warning light began to flash rhythmically above the emergency exit door, accompanied by an automated computerized voice chanting: CABIN PRESSURE COMPROMISED. OXYGEN MASKS DEPLOYING.
Clara watched in absolute horror as small yellow oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling of the jet cabin. Elena didn't reach for a mask. She simply stared straight ahead into the camera lens, her lips moving as if trying to form words, before her head slumped sideways against the headrest.
“What did you do to her?!” Clara screamed into the microphone, her voice cracking with raw anguish.
“Just ensuring the loose ends are tied permanently, Miss Vance,” Viktor replied smoothly. “Have a nice flight.”
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The call abruptly disconnected, the screen freezing on the image of Elena unconscious in the depressurizing cabin as the jet dipped sharply into a steep, unauthorized dive.
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