Chapter 9 - The Hangar at Midnight
Midway Airport’s private sector was silent under the freezing November drizzle.
Inside Hangar 4, a sleek Gulfstream G650 sat fueled and ready on the tarmac, its turbine engines whining in low idle. Julian Montigue, a man of sixty with manicured silver hair, draped in a three-thousand-dollar cashmere overcoat, paced nervously beside a stack of metal flight cases.
Surrounding him were eight heavily armed private contractors, their rifles held at the low ready.
“Where are they?” Julian barked at his lieutenant, checking his gold Patek Philippe watch. “The strike team should have been back twenty minutes ago! Did they secure the boy?”
“Communications went dark five minutes after they breached the estate, Mr. Montigue,” the lieutenant replied, eyes scanning the dark perimeter. “We should wheels up now. If Victor Blackwood is alive—”
The heavy corrugated steel doors of the hangar groaned.
The master power switch was suddenly cut. The massive halogen floodlights overhead died instantly, plunging the hangar into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
“Weapons up!” Julian screamed, pulling a silver-plated Beretta from his coat. “Form a perimeter around the aircraft!”
Red laser dots pierced the darkness.
Not one. Not two.
Dozens.
They danced across the chests of the mercenaries, painting glowing crimson targets over their hearts and foreheads.
Before a single contractor could raise a rifle, the rhythmic, thunderous roar of suppressed automatic fire erupted from the catwalks above.
The mercenaries fell in a synchronized, brutal ballet of execution. No return fire was possible. In less than six seconds, all eight contractors lay motionless on the oil-stained concrete floor, their weapons clattering harmlessly away.
Julian Montigue stood entirely alone in the center of the hangar, surrounded by corpses, the red laser dots converging directly between his eyes.
A heavy diesel engine hummed outside.
A single black armored SUV rolled through the open hangar doors, its high-beam headlights blinding Julian. The vehicle came to a smooth stop twenty feet away.
The driver’s door opened. Dominic stepped out, holding a tactical shotgun.
Then, the rear passenger door opened.
Victor Blackwood stepped out into the glare of the headlights.
Beside him stepped Lily. She wore a tailored black coat Victor had draped over her shoulders, her arm bandaged, her expression steady and resolute. She did not look away from the carnage. She stood by Victor’s side, unbroken.
Behind them, the rear door of the SUV swung wide, and two enforcers dragged Serena out, throwing her onto her knees at her father’s feet.
“Dad!” Serena sobbed, crawling toward Julian’s polished shoes. “Dad, help me! He killed everyone! He’s crazy!”
Julian’s face went completely gray. His hands began to shake so violently that his Beretta slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the concrete.
“Victor...” Julian’s voice cracked, the swagger of an underworld patriarch dissolving into the pathetic whimper of a trapped rat. “Victor, listen to me. This was Serena’s doing. She organized the strike! She went behind my back! I swear to you on my family’s name, I only wanted the financial ledger!”
Victor walked forward slowly, his hands resting casually inside the pockets of his dark coat.
“You broke the treaty, Julian,” Victor said softly. “You sent armed men into my nursery. You shattered glass over my son’s crib.”
“I’ll give you everything!” Julian pleaded, dropping to his knees beside his weeping daughter. “Take the docks! Take the shipping lines, the warehouses, the overseas accounts! Take it all! Just let us board the plane! We will leave the country! You will never see a Montigue in North America again!”
Victor stopped five feet from them. The headlights cast his shadow long and monstrous across the fuselage of the private jet.
“You don't understand, Julian,” Victor said, his voice flat, devoid of anger, which made it infinitely more terrifying. “You have nothing to give me. The moment you authorized that raid, your assets were seized by the Commission under the treachery statutes. Dominic’s men took control of your port three hours ago.”
Victor turned slightly and extended a hand toward Lily.
Lily stepped forward. She looked down at Serena—the woman who had ground a heel into her ribs, who had dragged a helpless infant by his broken arm, who had thought an orphan girl was nothing more than dirt beneath her shoes.
Lily reached into her coat and pulled out the small velvet box containing Serena’s three-million-dollar diamond engagement ring.
With deliberate calm, Lily opened the box and tipped it upside down.
The massive diamond struck the concrete floor with a sharp click, rolling across the oil slick until it settled in the grime near Serena’s bare feet.
“No one cares about a nobody,” Lily repeated Serena’s own cruel words from the foyer, her voice clear, steady, and chillingly cold. “Isn't that what you said?”
Serena looked up at Lily, her mouth opening in silent, strangled agony.
“Victor,” Julian wept, clutching his daughter’s shoulder. “Please... have mercy.”
Victor looked at the old man, then turned his eyes to Dominic.
“Put them on the plane,” Victor said.
Julian blinked through his tears, disbelief washing over his face. “You’re... you’re letting us fly?”
Victor’s lips curled into a cold, merciless line.
“You wanted to leave Chicago, Julian. I am giving you what you asked for.” Victor turned his back on them, walking back toward the SUV where Lily stood waiting. “Dominic. Ensure the flight plan is locked for international waters. And ensure the transponder is turned off twenty miles past the coastline.”
Julian’s face twisted in horror as the realization hit him like a physical blow. “No! Victor! No! Not over the water! Victor!”
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Dominic leveled his shotgun at Julian’s chest. “Move. Up the stairs. Both of you.”
***
