Chapter 27 - Ghost in the Cockpit
The funicular car shot upward along the 45-degree incline, its electric motors screaming as Marcus overrode the safety governors. Through the reinforced glass roof, the gloomy storm clouds of Geneva gave way to the cavernous, shadowy ceiling of Northstar's subterranean maintenance depot.
We emerged into the center of Hangar Four. The hangar was vast, cold, and dead quiet—except for the monstrous silhouette resting on the hydraulic lift at the center of the bay.
It wasn't a standard commercial Boeing or Airbus. It was the *Valkyrie One*—my father’s secret prototype, a modified long-range supersonic business cruiser designed with low-radar cross-section materials and twin military-grade turbofans. It had sat unregistered under diplomatic tarps for four years, preserved under vacuum seals like a sleeping leviathan.
"Is it fueled?" Marcus breathed, his eyes wide as he scanned the hangar perimeter.
"It has full sovereign reserve tanks," I replied, running toward the crew ladder. "Dad always kept one bird loaded for the day the walls came down. The ground crew here was on his personal private payroll."
"Emily! You can't leave me here!" Victoria shrieked, collapsing at the base of the boarding stairs, clutching my boot. Her mascara had run down her cheeks in filthy black streaks; her designer blouse was torn to ribbons. "Take me with you! Julian will skin me alive if he finds me!"
I looked down at her from the second step of the ladder.
"Six years ago, Victoria, you told me that a girl without money is nothing more than garbage to be thrown onto the tarmac. You told the flight attendants on Flight 88 to ignore my requests for water when I was sick with a 103-degree fever in seat 38B, because 'she needs to learn her station.'"
"I was stressed! I was trying to preserve our family's dignity!" she wailed, tears carving lines through the soot on her face.
"You have no family. And you have no dignity." I kicked my heel free of her grip. "Get in the rear lavatory compartment. Marcus, zip-tie her hands to the bulkhead. If she touches a single panel, eject her over the Alps."
Marcus dragged her up the stairs like a sack of unwanted luggage. I stepped into the cockpit, slamming my palm against the master avionics toggle.
The dual cockpit screens illuminated with a deep, authoritative sapphire glow. A synthetic voice chimed through the cockpit:
*BIOMETRIC RECOGNITION CONFIRMED: VANCE, EMILY. SOVEREIGN PILOT AUTHORITY RESTORED.*
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Outside the hangar, the steel blast doors began to buckle under explosive charges. Sterling's gunships had landed.
***
