Chapter 26 - The Jet on the Tarmac
I leaped onto the airstairs of the Gulfstream just as the hydraulic doors began to fold shut.
I jammed the muzzle of my rifle into the door mechanism, wrenching the release handle down with brute force. The door snapped open with an explosive hiss of depressurization.
Victoria was standing in the luxurious cabin, her eyes wild, her pistol aimed directly at my chest.
"Stay back, you military bitch!" Victoria yelled over the screaming roar of the engines. "You don't know who you're dealing with! My father owns prime ministers! He owns banks that control national budgets! You touch me, and Arthur will rain fire on your entire family!"
I stepped into the cabin, entirely unbothered by her trembling gun. Rain dripped from the brim of my tactical helmet, my eyes locking onto hers with the lethal stillness that had terrified warlords across three continents.
"Your father hid in a basement in Zurich for twenty-six years because he was terrified of a federal tax audit," I said, taking a slow step forward. "He is an old, dying fraud. And you are just his frightened errand girl."
Victoria pulled the trigger.
I had already shifted my weight. The bullet tore through the plush leather headrest behind me. In the next fraction of a second, I closed the gap, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it until the radial bone cracked with a sickening snap.
Victoria screamed in agony as the gun clattered to the cabin floor. I swept her legs out from under her, driving her face-first into the carpeted floorboards, driving my knee into the small of her back and cuffing her wrists behind her in two smooth, practiced motions.
Up in the cockpit, the two pilots raised their hands instantly when they saw the red laser dot of my sidearm dancing across the windshield.
"Engines down. Now," I commanded.
The high whine of the jet turbines began to wind down, dropping into a dying mechanical hum.
Outside, the tarmac was suddenly flooded with the blinding white glare of federal searchlights. Dozens of black tactical vehicles, armored personnel carriers, and military Humvees swarmed Hangar 4, sealing off every runway.
I hauled Victoria Whitaker up by her collar and pushed her down the airstairs.
Nathan was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. He looked at Victoria, then up at me.
"She talked," Nathan said, gesturing toward his phone. "Vance cracked Victoria's encrypted phone while we were clearing the hangar. Arthur isn't in Zurich."
I stopped on the stairs. "Where is he?"
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Nathan looked up, his expression hardened into pure granite. "He’s right here in the United States. He arrived by yacht in Newport three days ago. He’s staying at the Whitaker family's old ancestral estate on the cliffs of Rhode Island."
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