Chapter 5 - The Trap at Teterboro
Rain began to lash against the tarmac at Teterboro Airport by the time Richard Blake’s armored Mercedes SUV pulled up beside Hangar 4.
The private Gulfstream jet sat idling on the runway, its twin engines emitting a low, whistling roar. Richard stepped out into the downpour, flanked by four heavily armed private mercenaries. He carried two aluminum cases containing cold storage cryptocurrency drives and bearer bonds—everything he had looted from the Carter syndicate's European shadow accounts over the last decade.
He checked his Rolex, his face beaded with sweat that wasn't entirely from the humidity. "Get the luggage loaded! We take off in three minutes!"
"Tower hasn't cleared our taxi lane, Mr. Blake," his lead mercenary said, pressing an earpiece into his ear. "They're claiming a ground stop due to wind shear."
"Screw the tower!" Richard snapped, his eyes darting frantically toward the airport perimeter fence. "Pay off the runway controller! We take off now!"
He had felt the sudden shift in the penthouse. The moment Alexander Carter’s eyes had gone cold, Richard knew the game was up. He didn't know how a three-year-old child had opened that impenetrable titanium door, but he knew what Julian had kept inside. If Alexander read those transcripts, there was no corner of the earth safe enough to hide him.
Suddenly, the floodlights illuminating the tarmac cut out completely, plunging the hangar into pitch-black darkness.
"We lost power!" the pilot yelled from the open cabin stairs.
Before the mercenaries could draw their weapons, four black Escalades smashed through the perimeter gate at eighty miles per hour, tires screeching against wet asphalt. They formed a tight, blinding ring around the Gulfstream, their high-beam xenon headlights pinning Richard and his men in an inescapable crossfire of light.
Dozens of red laser dots appeared on the chests of Richard’s four guards.
"Drop the iron," Dante’s gravelly voice boomed through a vehicle loudspeaker. "Or the rain won't be the only thing washing this runway tonight."
The mercenaries took one look at the sheer numbers surrounding them, dropped their submachine guns onto the wet concrete, and raised their hands in the air.
Richard stood frozen in the glare of the headlights, clutching his aluminum cases to his chest like a child holding a stolen toy.
May you like
The driver's door of the lead Escalade opened.
I stepped out into the pouring rain, wearing an unbuttoned black overcoat, without an umbrella, walking straight toward the man who had murdered my brother.
