Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Airfield
The Westchester airstrip was shrouded in a thin, clinging morning fog that rolled in from the Hudson River, blurring the edges of the tarmac and turning the skeletal frame of the control tower into a looming silhouette.
Dominic’s armored SUV tore through the chain-link perimeter gate, the heavy steel bumper shearing the padlock clean off its mounting bracket with a screech of tortured metal. A second SUV followed closely behind, tires hissing on the damp asphalt.
"Cut the lights," Dominic ordered from the front passenger seat.
The headlights flickered and died, plunging the vehicles into gray obscurity as they coasted silently toward the tarmac. In the distance, parked near the edge of a private hangar, sat a twin-engine Gulfstream jet with its turbine engines already whining, ready for takeoff.
"There," Marco pointed from the back seat. "Arthur’s town car is parked right beside the boarding ramp."
Dominic pushed the door open before the SUV had even come to a complete stop. The cold river air bit at his face, but he didn't feel it. Adrenaline and pure, unadulterated fury kept his blood running hot.
"Take the rear flank," Dominic told Marco in a low, lethal hiss. "If anyone else steps out of that hangar, put them down."
He drew his Sig Sauer, keeping the barrel pointed toward the ground as he moved with deadly efficiency across the open tarmac. The roar of the jet engines drowned out the sound of his footsteps, masking his approach until he was less than twenty yards from the boarding ladder.
Suddenly, the side door of the hangar slid open.
Two men stepped out, both wearing heavy tactical vests over dark suits, carrying submachine guns at the ready. Vaneer enforcers.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He raised his weapon and fired twice.
The first enforcer dropped before he could raise his barrel, spinning and collapsing against the corrugated metal wall. The second scrambled for cover behind the landing gear of the town car, returning wild, blind fire that pinged harmlessly off the reinforced side panel of the SUV.
"Marco, now!" Dominic roared.
From the flank, Marco opened up with suppressive fire, driving the second enforcer back behind the hangar door. Dominic closed the distance in three swift strides, kicking the car door open and hauling the terrified driver out by his collar.
"Where is Arthur?" Dominic demanded, pressing the cold steel barrel against the man's temple.
"He's... he's already on the jet!" the driver squealed, dropping his weapon and raising his hands. "He’s taxiing now!"
Dominic looked up. The Gulfstream’s wheels were beginning to roll forward, kicking up a spray of loose gravel and mist as it turned toward the main runway.
"Not today," Dominic muttered.
He sprinted toward the moving aircraft, ignoring Marco’s frantic warning shouts. As the plane accelerated down the runway, Dominic leaped forward, catching the lower rung of the emergency boarding ladder as it swung upward.
His arms strained against his socket joints as the jet surged forward, dragging him across the asphalt for terrifying, agonizing seconds before he managed to hook his knee over the metal step and haul himself upward.
With a final, brutal effort, Dominic slammed his shoulder against the cabin door, snapping the emergency latch. He tumbled inside the pressurized cabin, gasping for air.
Sitting in the plush leather executive seat near the front was Arthur Vance, looking pale, disheveled, and holding a silver briefcase filled with encrypted data drives.
Arthur froze, his hand hovering over the cockpit intercom.
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Dominic slowly stood up, wiping a streak of blood from his knuckles, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fire.
"Hello, Arthur," Dominic said softly. "Going somewhere?"
