Chapter 7 - The Sky Trap
At 2:45 PM, a slick grey Gulfstream G650 taxied along the tarmac at Teterboro Private Airport in New Jersey.
Julian Vane, wearing a expensive cashmere coat and dark sunglasses, hurried up the boarding stairs, clutching two heavy silver briefcases. His face was soaked in nervous sweat, his eyes darting frantically across the airfield.
“Get us airborne immediately!” Julian barked at the flight attendant standing near the cabin door. “Skip the safety demonstration! Just get this plane off the ground!”
“Right away, Mr. Vane,” the flight attendant replied smoothly, closing the heavy pressurized door and sealing the cabin.
The jet’s engines roared to life. Minutes later, the aircraft lifted off into the grey overcast sky, banking steeply toward the east.
Julian sank into a plush leather captain’s chair in the executive cabin, letting out a massive, shuddering sigh of relief. He popped open a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon champagne, pouring himself a overflowing glass.
“Four years...” Julian muttered to himself, taking a deep gulp of the sparkling wine. “Four years of setting up the accounts... all clean. Arthur Sterling will never catch me.”
Suddenly, twenty minutes into the flight, the jet began a steep descent. The engine noise pitched downward, and the cabin pressure altered.
Julian frowned, looking out the oval window. Below the cloud cover, instead of the blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean on a course toward Europe, he saw the lush, forested coastline of the Hamptons.
He jumped up from his chair, marching toward the cockpit door, pounding his fist against the reinforced metal.
“What are you doing?!” Julian screamed. “We’re descending! Why are we landing in New York?! I paid you fifty thousand dollars to fly to Dubai!”
The cockpit door unlocked and swung open.
Stepping out from the flight deck was Marcus Vance, flanked by two towering private security officers armed with tactical sidearms.
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Julian stumbled backward, dropping his champagne glass onto the beige carpet. “Vance?! What... what is the meaning of this?!”
“Inflight adjustment, Mr. Vane,” Marcus said calmly, crossing his arms. “Mr. Sterling altered your flight plan. Welcome home.”
