Chapter 147 - The Broken Chain
The rain turned to sleet as Vincent’s armored Maybach cut through the northern suburbs toward an abandoned private airfield outside Rockford. Two black SUVs followed closely behind, their tires throwing plumes of freezing water into the gloom.
Inside the passenger cabin, Emma checked the action on a compact polymer sidearm Vincent’s weapons master had issued her. She handled the weapon with calm, deliberate proficiency—a skill learned during seventy-two hours of unrelenting survival against the best mercenaries money could buy.
"Victoria wasn't an operative," Emma said, staring out at the blurred silhouettes of skeletal trees whipping past the reinforced glass. "She was vain, arrogant, and cruel. Why would they risk a high-profile extraction on a federal prisoner just to pull her out?"
"Victoria is the last living Sterling with biological access," Vincent answered, his gaze fixed on a satellite telemetry monitor mounted between the front seats. "Julian's death left the family's Swiss trusts and offshore asset codes locked under a dead-man's protocol. The keys are split between genetic bloodlines. Without Victoria's retinal signature, the remaining members of the Compass cannot access the hundreds of millions in liquidated capital Julian hid before the assault."
"So she’s not their partner," Emma observed. "She's their hostage."
"A hostage who will give them the resources to rebuild their mercenary network within hours if she speaks," Vincent said coldly. "And once they have what they need from her, they will dispose of her as callously as she attempted to dispose of others."
The vehicle slowed as they approached the perimeter of the Rockford tactical runway. The chain-link gates had been sheared off at the hinges, lying mangled in the muddy ditch. Tire tracks of heavy commercial transports led straight down the tarmac toward an illuminated hangar at the far end of the runway.
Marco killed the headlights, bringing the convoy to a silent halt three hundred yards from the hangar entrance.
Through the scope of his rifle, Marco surveyed the scene. "Three sentries outside. Standard private military contractor loadout. They have a Gulfstream IV spooling its auxiliary power unit inside the bay. They're prepping for takeoff."
"We move now," Vincent said, reaching for his weapon. "No warning shots. Suppress the perimeter before that jet reaches taxi speed."
"Wait," Emma whispered, her hand resting on Vincent’s arm. "Look at the roofline."
Vincent adjusted his night-vision optics. Positioned on the steel trusses of the hangar roof were not sentries, but automated remote weapon stations—tripod-mounted heavy machine guns with infrared targeting lenses sweeping the approach in synchronized arcs.
"A kill zone," Vincent noted, his jaw tightening. "They knew we would track Victoria's cellular transponder. It's a perimeter ambush."
"Not if we take the power grid out from behind," Emma said, pointing toward a secondary substation fifty yards to their flank, sheltered by a stand of pines. "The airfield's emergency backup feeds through that transformer. Cut the main line, and the turrets drop into manual reset for ninety seconds."
Vincent looked at her, a faint, rare smile breaking through his grim exterior. "You're learning fast, Emma."
"I had an exceptional teacher," she replied softly.
"Marco," Vincent ordered through his comms. "Sniper fire on the transformer insulators. The moment the lights flicker, we breach."
May you like
A single, suppressed crack echoed through the sleet. Two hundred yards away, the transformer erupted in a vivid shower of blue sparks. The floodlights illuminating the tarmac instantly died, plunging the hangar into absolute, suffocating darkness.
***
