Chapter 7 - ESCAPE AT OAK CREEK AIRFIELDZ
The tires of my Ford SUV screamed against the asphalt as I sped down County Road 14 toward the private airfield. The speedometer hovered near ninety miles per hour, the engine roaring in protest.
Richard Vance was a cornered rat. He knew that with Julian in custody and his financial records seized by the state prosecutor, his multi-million-dollar empire was collapsing like a house of cards. If he reached that private jet and crossed into international airspace, he would hide his remaining offshore fortune in non-extradition countries, forever beyond the reach of justice.
I wasn't going to let that happen.
Up ahead, the chain-link security perimeter of Oak Creek Private Airfield appeared through the trees. A sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream G550 jet sat idling on the tarmac, its engines whining as they spun up for takeoff.
Near the hanger, a luxury black sedan was parked with its doors open.
I slammed on my brakes, skidding to a halt just inside the airfield gates.
Standing near the stairs of the jet was Richard Vance. He was carrying two heavy leather duffel bags—undoubtedly stuffed with bearer bonds, cash, and encrypted hard drives. Surrounding him were four men in tactical gear, carrying concealed sidearms and military-style carbines.
As I stepped out of my SUV, Richard Vance turned. His silver hair was disheveled, his expensive suit rumpled, and his eyes burned with pure, murderous hatred.
"Colonel Turner," Vance yelled over the deafening whine of the jet engines. "You just couldn't leave it alone, could you? You had to ruin everything!"
"It's over, Vance!" I called out, stepping toward him, completely unbothered by the four armed men raising their weapons toward me. "The SBI has frozen your accounts. Your son is in custody. There is nowhere left to run."
Vance laughed—a dry, crazed sound. "Nowhere to run? I have fifty million dollars in a Swiss account that your state prosecutors will never touch! I built this region! I owned every politician, every judge, every cop! You think a uniform and a badge make you special? You're nothing!"
He turned to his lead security guard—a heavily scarred man with cold, mercenary eyes. "Kill her. Put a bullet in her head and throw her body in the woods. We leave in two minutes."
The mercenary raised his tactical carbine, aiming directly at my chest. "Sorry, Colonel. Business is business."
Before he could pull the trigger, a high-caliber rifle shot echoed across the airfield from a nearby water tower.
THWACK!
A high-velocity sniper round struck the mercenary’s weapon, shattering the receiver into pieces and knocking him off his feet. He screamed, clutching his bloody hands.
"Grizz!" I shouted into my earpiece.
"I've got your back, Boss!" Grizz's voice came through crisp and clear. "Second sniper team is in position on Hangar B. Take 'em down!"
Panic erupted among Vance's security detail. The remaining three guards turned toward the water tower, distracted and confused.
I didn't waste the fraction of a second they gave me.
I sprinted forward, closing the thirty-yard gap between us in seconds. I launched a flying side-kick into the nearest guard's chest, throwing him back against the jet's landing gear. I swept the second guard's legs out from beneath him, driving my heel into his solar plexus as he hit the ground.
The fourth guard tried to draw his sidearm, but I grabbed his wrist, twisted it violently upward, and disarmed him in a single fluid motion. I struck him across the temple with the butt of his own weapon, dropping him instantly to the tarmac.
In less than twelve seconds, all four guards were neutralized.
Richard Vance stood alone at the base of the jet stairs, trembling violently, dropping the two heavy leather duffel bags at his feet.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, snub-nosed .38 revolver. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely keep the gun pointed at me.
"Stay back!" Vance screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "I'll shoot you! I swear to God I'll kill you!"
I stepped toward him slowly, unbothered by the gun pointed at my heart.
"You're not a killer, Richard," I said, my voice steady, cold, and echoing with absolute authority. "You're a coward who hides behind money and hired muscle. But the money is gone. The muscle is on the ground. And now it's just you and me."
"I'll... I'll give you ten million!" Vance begged, tears of frustration streaming down his face. "Twenty million! Just let me get on this plane! You can have the diner! You can have the whole town!"
"My father told me something before he died," I said, stepping right up to the barrel of his gun. "He said the uniform isn't a weapon for revenge. It's a promise to something bigger than yourself."
With a movement faster than the human eye could track, I grabbed the cylinder of the revolver, preventing the hammer from striking, and ripped the gun from his weak grip. I tossed it onto the tarmac.
I grabbed Vance by his expensive silk tie, pulling his face inches from mine.
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"My promise is to protect people from men like you," I said softly.
Sirens wailed in the distance as a fleet of State Bureau of Investigation vehicles crashed through the airfield gates, their red and blue lights flashing against the darkening sky.
