Chapter 6 - The Airfield AmbushZ
The night air was freezing as the unmarked police cruiser tore through the industrial district, its red and blue lights flashing silently against the dark, empty warehouses. Rain had begun to fall, a light, greasy drizzle that slicked the pavement and reflected the sodium lights overhead.
I sat in the back of Detective Miller’s car, my hands gripped tightly in my lap. Beside us, three black police SUVs carrying heavily armed tactical officers followed in tight formation.
"Ten minutes out," Officer Vance said from the passenger seat, his eyes glued to a tactical tablet displaying the layout of the regional airfield. "The jet is a Gulfstream IV, registered to an offshore shell corporation. It’s sitting on Hangar 4's apron, engines idling."
"Did air traffic control hold the clearance?" Miller asked, keeping her hands firm on the steering wheel as she took a sharp turn.
"They delayed them under the guise of an unexpected weather hold, but the pilot is getting anxious," Vance replied. "If they realize the cops are coming, they’ll roll down the runway with or without clearance."
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting another taunting text from Victoria. But it was a message from the hospital nurse.
“Leo is fully awake. His vitals are stable, and he’s asking for his mama. He’s going to be okay, Claire.”
Tears of pure, overwhelming relief welled in my eyes. He was alive. He was waking up. The poison was leaving his system. Knowing my son was safe ignited something fierce and merciless inside me. Victoria Vance had failed to kill my baby, and now she was out of time.
"We're approaching the perimeter," Miller announced, turning off her headlights as we turned down a long, poorly lit service road that ran parallel to the airport's chain-link fence.
Ahead, through the curtain of rain, I could see the blinding halogen floodlights of Hangar 4. A sleek, white private jet stood on the concrete apron, its engines emitting a low, powerful whine that vibrated through the ground. A sleek silver sedan—Victoria's getaway vehicle—was parked directly beside the boarding stairs.
"Tactical team, execute execution plan Alpha," Miller spoke into her radio harness. "Block the runway access. Do not let that aircraft move."
Two of the black SUVs suddenly accelerated, smashing through a weak wooden security gate and roaring onto the tarmac. They skidded into a V-formation directly in front of the jet's nose cone, their high-beam headlights blinding the cockpit.
"Police! Stay where you are! Shut down the engines!" a voice boomed over a loudspeaker.
Through the rain-streaked window, I saw the side door of Hangar 4 burst open. A figure clad in a sleek black raincoat and carrying a heavy aluminum briefcase sprinted toward the jet stairs.
It was her. Victoria.
"She's making a break for the stairs!" Vance shouted.
Victoria scrambled up the metal steps, but a guard inside the plane, seeing the flashing police lights and armed tactical officers advancing with rifles raised, frantically tried to pull the cabin door shut to save himself.
"Wait! Let me on!" Victoria’s desperate shriek echoed over the roar of the jet engines.
The guard inside shoved her backward. Victoria stumbled down the wet metal stairs, losing her footing and tumbling hard onto the slick concrete below. The heavy aluminum briefcase flew from her hand, skidding across the tarmac and popping open upon impact.
Bundles of cash, encrypted flash drives, and stolen documents scattered across the wet ground, blowing away in the harsh draft of the jet's turbines.
"Don't move!" Detective Miller roared, jumping out of the cruiser with her weapon drawn, Vance right behind her.
I defied Miller's orders. I slammed my door open and stepped out into the freezing rain.
Victoria was on her hands and knees, clutching her bruised shoulder, surrounded by tactical officers with lasers trained squarely on her chest. Her pristine appearance was completely gone. Her hair was soaked and plastered to her face, her expensive clothes were covered in oil and tarmac grime, and her eyes were wide with pure, pathetic terror.
"Get down on the ground! Interlock your fingers behind your head!" an officer commanded.
Victoria slowly rolled onto her back, panting heavily. As she pushed herself up slightly, her eyes swept across the ring of police officers and locked directly onto me.
The terror in her face flickered, replaced for a brief moment by that familiar, sickeningly sweet smile she used to give me at my front door.
"Claire," she gasped, rain dripping from her chin. "You always were so... resilient."
A wave of white-hot fury surged through my veins. I walked past Detective Miller, ignoring her calls to stay back, until I was standing right above the monster who had invaded my life.
"Where is it?" I demanded, my voice cold as ice.
Victoria chuckled weakly, coughing against the cold air. "Where is what? The money? It's on the ground, darling. Take it. Your husband certainly didn't mind giving it to me."
"I don't care about the money," I said, leaning down so only she could hear me above the roar of the engines. "I want to know how you slept at night. I want to know how you could look at a helpless, innocent baby boy and poison him day after day."
Victoria's smile faded, replaced by a cold, vacant stare—the true face of a sociopath.
"He was just a tool, Claire," she whispered viciously. "A noise that needed to be muted so I could do my job. He meant nothing to me. None of you did."
"He's going to live," I spat, tears of rage mixing with the rain on my face. "He's fine. And you... you are going to spend the rest of your miserable life in a maximum-security cage."
Detective Miller grabbed Victoria by her hair, pulling her arms roughly behind her back and snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto her wrists. Victoria groaned in pain as she was hauled to her feet.
"Victoria Vance, you are under arrest for attempted murder, child endangerment, corporate espionage, grand larceny, and identity fraud," Miller barked, shoving her toward a police vehicle.
As they dragged her away, Victoria suddenly stopped and looked back over her shoulder at me, a dark, unsettling grin spreading across her lips.
"You think this ends with me, Claire?" Victoria called out, her voice carrying over the wind. "Check your husband's phone! Check who paid me to enter your house in the first place!"
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My heart plunged into a cold abyss. I froze in the middle of the rain-slicked tarmac as the police pushed Victoria into the back of the car.
What did she just say?
