Chapter 5 - Midnight at Hangar Four
The south airfield was an expanse of slick, reflective tarmac shrouded in mist. In the middle of Hangar Four, a twin-engine corporate jet stood with its cargo doors open. Forklifts were moving unmarked olive-drab crates into the hold with frantic urgency.
Overseeing the operation was Major Donald Hayes, the base’s chief logistics officer. For months, Hayes had projected the image of a quiet, bookish bureaucrat who kept his head down and balanced spreadsheets. Now, he stood in a civilian rain jacket, holding a suppressed tactical submachine gun, checking his wristwatch every ten seconds.
"Move it!" Hayes barked at two private contractors. "CID already locked down the main armory. Once this bird is in the air, we don't land until we cross the border into Mexican airspace. You want to spend thirty years in a federal cage?"
"They’re not making it into the air, Major."
The voice echoed from the shadows near the hangar’s side entrance.
Hayes spun around, bringing his weapon up. The contractors dropped their crates, reaching for their holsters.
Ava stepped out into the harsh glare of the halogen work lights. She had wrapped a clean field dressing around her forehead. Her dark trench coat was soaked, clinging to her frame, but her posture was rock-solid. Behind her, stepping out of the mist like phantoms, were twelve heavily armed tactical MPs, their assault rifles raised, laser sights painting crimson dots over Hayes and his men.
"Drop your weapons!" an MP sergeant yelled. "Hands where we can see them!"
Hayes glanced around, calculating his chances. The laser dots converged on his chest. His men slowly raised their hands, dropping their pistols onto the concrete with dull thuds.
Hayes, however, kept his submachine gun gripped tight. A bitter sneer spread across his lips. "Mercer. You really don't know when to die, do you?"
"Put the weapon down, Hayes," Ava said, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. "It’s over. Ryan gave you up forty-five minutes ago."
"Ryan is an idiot who couldn't keep his mouth shut or his temper in check," Hayes spat. "He thought he was invincible because of his daddy. But me? I earned every cent of this. You think this base pays enough to raise three kids and care for an ailing wife? The military throws us into the dirt when we’re broken. I took what was mine."
"You sold state-of-the-art military firepower to cartels who murder innocent people, Donald," Ava countered, her voice ice-cold. "Don't lecture me about family. You’re a traitor. And worse, you hid behind Ryan Cole's arrogance so he would take the fall if things went sour."
Hayes laughed wildly. "He did take the fall! But you won't be here to see my trial!"
With a desperate cry, Hayes swung his weapon directly at Ava.
Before he could pull the trigger, Ava lunged forward, closing the six-foot gap between them. She swept his weapon arm upward with her left forearm; the burst of automatic gunfire tore harmlessly into the hangar’s metal ceiling.
With her right hand, Ava drove a brutal palm strike directly into Hayes’s nose, shattering the cartilage. Hayes stumbled back, howling in pain, but swung a wild, desperate punch at her injured head.
Ava ducked under the blow, hooked her boot behind his knee, and drove him violently into the cold concrete floor. She brought her knee down between his shoulder blades, twisted his right arm behind his back until the joint popped, and pressed the cold muzzle of her SIG against the base of his skull.
"Don't move," Ava whispered, breathing hard. "Or I’ll close this case right now."
Hayes went limp against the floor, sobbing in agony and defeat.
The MPs swarmed the hangar, securing the contractors, zip-tying their wrists, and cataloging the crates of stolen weaponry.
Colonel Vance stepped into the hangar a moment later, accompanied by the regional director of the FBI. The Colonel looked at the piles of recovered crates, then down at Hayes, and finally at Ava.
"Agent Mercer," Vance said softly. "Are you intact?"
Ava stood up, holstering her weapon, and wiped a speck of blood from her mouth. "Just minor abrasions, sir. The shipment is secure. The entire logistics ring has been neutralized."
The FBI Director nodded with profound respect. "We’ve already picked up the civilian brokers in Dallas and Miami based on the digital keys your team extracted from Ryan’s laptop. It’s a clean sweep, Agent Mercer. Outstanding work."
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"Thank you, sir," Ava said. She turned toward the dark runway. "Now I have one final piece of business to settle."
***
