Chapter 38 - The Gilded Poison
The atmosphere inside the First Class cabin shifted from predatory smugness to volatile chaos.
The commander took a step toward Victoria, his jaw clenched, the weapon at his side suddenly much more relevant. "You guaranteed the ledger was authentic. Apex Command diverted three transport teams and compromised our JFK asset for this operation."
"Wait! It’s a trick!" Victoria shrieked, pressing her back against the leather seat cushions. She pointed a trembling, manicured finger at me. "She’s lying! She’s playing mind games! Search her! The real core is in her coat!"
"Stand down, Commander," I ordered, my voice carrying the absolute authority of a sovereign sovereign commander.
The operative hesitated. In their world, mercenaries followed money and survival. Victoria represented a failing asset. I represented the living, breathing heir to the Northstar empire.
"You work for Apex," I said, stepping into the aisle between the commander and Victoria. "Apex was founded by my father, Arthur Vance, under the Sovereign Charter of 1994. Under Section 8 of your contractor agreement, any operative who acts against the direct bloodline of the Founder without a verified unanimous vote of the Core Council is subject to immediate summary execution and contract nullification."
"The Founder is dead," the commander grunted, though his posture had stiffened.
"Is he?" I took out the handwritten letter, holding it open so he could see the distinctive seal embossed into the paper fiber—a watermark visible only under polarized aircraft cabin light. "My father is alive. And if you think he left this aircraft without a failsafe, you don't know the man who designed the Valkyrie class."
Before the commander could respond, the flight attendant, Clara, stepped out of the galley. Her hands were no longer shaking.
In her right hand, she held a compact, silenced subcompact pistol. It was aimed directly at the back of the commander’s skull.
"Drop your weapons," Clara said, her voice completely transformed—no longer the timid stewardess, but a trained sovereign operative with ice in her veins. "All of you. Now."
The five other guards moved to draw, but the click of the galley bulkhead locking mechanisms echoed through the speakers.
"Cabin depressurization override engaged," Clara announced calmly. "If any of you discharges a firearm in this cabin, the environmental control system will vent all oxygen from this compartment within four seconds. Miss Vance and I are wearing emergency tactical regulators. You are not."
The commander raised both hands slowly, his tactical transponder dangling from one finger. "Who the hell are you?"
May you like
"Sovereign Guard, Second Regiment," Clara replied, flashing a faint, lethal smile. "Assigned to Flight 01 six months before Arthur Vance faked his death. Welcome aboard, Emily. Your father sends his regards."
***
