Chapter 9 - The Godfather’s Retribution
Twenty minutes later, the aircraft was completely secured. Emergency slide chutes were deployed from the forward doors, but airport rescue stairways were quickly wheeled up to the main exits to allow passengers to disembark safely.
Irish Garda armed response units and Shannon airport police swarmed the jet, boarding through the galley doors with tactical submachine guns at the ready.
Captain Miller and First Officer Cole were gently loaded onto gurneys and rushed down the stairs to waiting ambulances, where paramedics reported their vitals were stabilizing thanks to the immediate oxygen administration.
As the passengers filed down the aisle toward the exit, they stopped one by one at seat 8A.
Men in business suits shook my hand with tear-filled eyes. Elderly women pressed holy medals into my palm. Douglas Martinez scurried past with his eyes glued to the floor, unable to meet the gaze of the man he had called a vagrant two hours earlier.
Commander Sean Kelly of the Irish Special Detective Unit stepped through the forward doorway, scanning the cabin until his eyes landed on me. He held a tablet displaying airport manifest data.
He walked over, his expression grave and deeply respectful.
"Mr. Hayes?" Commander Kelly asked quietly.
"Yes," I said, holding Norah's small hand in mine.
Kelly glanced down at the floor hatch where two armed tactical officers were currently hauling the two zip-tied assassins up from the lower avionics bay. One of the hitmen had a splint on his broken collarbone; both were staring at me with hollow, defeated eyes.
"We found the altimeter detonator and the nerve-agent vials in their luggage down below," Commander Kelly whispered, leaning in close so the passengers couldn't hear. "They carried forged Ukrainian passports, but Interpol facial recognition just pinged them as high-tier enforcers for the Iron Crescent syndicate out of Hamburg."
I didn't react. I kept my face smooth as polished marble.
"Commander," I said softly. "My daughter has had an exhausting night. We need transport to a private hotel in Limerick."
Kelly looked at me for a long moment. He was a veteran investigator; he knew exactly who Warren Hayes was in the intelligence files. He knew about the shipping docks in Chicago, the offshore accounts, and the blood feuds that ran beneath the surface of the corporate world.
He also knew that without my hands on that yoke, two hundred and sixty innocent people would currently be floating as mangled corpses in the freezing swells of the Atlantic.
"A police escort is waiting on the tarmac, Mr. Hayes," Commander Kelly said, stepping aside and offering a crisp, respectful nod. "No press will be allowed near you or your daughter. You have the eternal gratitude of the Irish Aviation Authority."
"Thank you, Commander."
I picked Norah up in my arms, resting her head against my shoulder, and walked down the mobile stairway into the cool, rain-washed Irish night.
An unmarked black armored SUV was idling near the fire trucks.
A tall, impeccably dressed man with silver hair and an umbrella stepped forward, opening the rear door for us. It was Marcus Vance, my chief of logistics and right-hand man in Europe, who had flown in via private jet from London the moment our transponder went offline.
"Boss," Vance said quietly, holding the umbrella over Norah and me. "We tracked the encrypted communications from those two dogs on board. The hit was ordered by Nikolai Ramos himself. He’s currently holed up at his penthouse estate outside Zurich, waiting for news of the plane's disappearance."
I set Norah gently onto the soft leather rear seat of the SUV, tucking a warm cashmere blanket around her shoulders. She was already drifting off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that her father was near.
I closed the door softly, turning to Vance in the shadow of the wing.
My eyes were cold, dead, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"Vance," I said, my voice barely louder than the falling rain.
"Yes, boss?"
"Take every asset we have in Frankfurt, Milan, and Zurich. Freeze their money laundering channels. Seize their warehouses. And tell our people in Switzerland that Nikolai Ramos has twelve hours to leave Europe in a wooden box."
Vance bowed his head respectfully. "It will be done before dawn, Mr. Hayes."
"And Vance?"
"Sir?"
"Buy this airline."
May you like
Vance blinked in surprise. "Global Air, sir? The entire carrier?"
"Every majority share," I replied, opening the SUV's passenger door. "Give Jillian Rhodes a lifetime pension and promote Marcus Cole to Chief Pilot. Nobody who took care of my daughter on that plane will ever worry about money again."
