Chapter 6 - The Mole in Command
Z
The rain fell in sheets as my tactical SUV sped down Interstate 95, sirens blaring and red-and-blue lights piercing the thick midnight fog. I was driving, with Sarah in the passenger seat coordinating with State Police and Military Air Support. Two heavily armed MP vehicles followed right on my tail.
“State Police tracked the fake ambulance heading east toward a private airfield in Annapolis!” Sarah shouted over the roar of the engine and sirens. “They’re trying to reach a private gulfstream jet registered to a foreign shell company!”
“Have air traffic control ground every non-commercial flight within a fifty-mile radius!” I barked, swerving around a slow-moving semi-truck. “They are not taking off!”
“I already issued the order, but Mara—the airfield is privately owned by Blackwood Logistics,” Sarah warned, looking at her tablet. “That’s one of the primary defense contractors named in your father’s old audit files!”
The connection was crystal clear now. Linda Varner wasn't just a lone criminal; she was the central asset manager for a corrupt military-industrial syndicate that extended high into civilian defense contracting. They were rescuing her because if she took the stand again tomorrow, she would expose corporate executives, generals, and politicians.
Ten minutes later, we smashed through the perimeter gate of the Blackwood Logistics private airfield. The tires shrieked against the wet tarmac as we slid into a tactical block near the main hangar.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, I saw the sleek black silhouette of a private jet idling on the runway, its engines whining at high power. A white transport van was backed up against the mobile stairs, and armed men in unmarked tactical gear were frantically loading bags and escorting a blanket-draped figure up the steps.
“Move in! Clear the ramp!” I ordered through the tactical radio.
Our vehicles screeched to a halt, forming a defensive arc around the plane. Military Police poured out of the SUVs, weapons raised, shouting commands: “U.S. Military Police! Down on the ground! Drop your weapons!”
Instead of surrendering, the mercenaries opened fire.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the dark runway as high-caliber rounds slammed into the bulletproof windshield and bodywork of my SUV. I ducked low, unholstered my sidearm, kicked my door open, and rolled out onto the asphalt behind the wheel for cover.
Return fire erupted from the MPs. The deafening roar of gunfire echoed across the open tarmac.
“Suppressing fire on the stairs!” I bellowed, aiming carefully through the heavy rain and firing three deliberate shots at a gunman attempting to pull Linda onto the plane. The rounds found their mark, and the gunman tumbled backward down the metal steps.
Suddenly, a heavy black SUV detached from the shadow of the hangar and accelerated at breakneck speed toward our position, trying to ram through our defensive line to create an escape route.
I stood my ground, raised my weapon, and fired four round directly into the driver’s side windshield. The vehicle swerved violently, flipped onto two wheels, and crashed into the runway lighting rig with a metallic crunch, bursting into flames.
The remaining mercenaries, realizing they were outgunned and surrounded by military units and incoming State Police cruisers, threw their weapons onto the tarmac and raised their hands in surrender.
I moved forward behind my service weapon, my boots splashing through deep puddles, until I reached the base of the jet’s stairs.
Linda Varner was sitting on the top step, her blanket soaking wet, her face pale with terror and outrage. The cold, calculated mastermind was completely exposed, cornered like a rat under the bright spotlights of arriving police cruisers.
I stepped onto the bottom stair, looking up at her. The rain washed over my shaved head, dripping down my face.
“It’s over, Linda,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise of idling jet engines and dying sirens. “You couldn't run from my father twenty-five years ago, and you can’t run from me tonight.”
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Linda glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred, her lips trembling. “You arrogant little foolish girl... You think you’ve won? You have no idea how deep this goes! They will kill you before you ever reach court!”
“Let them try,” I replied calmly. “Get her in cuffs.”
