Chapter 5 - THE RACE TO JFK
Facebook Hook Title: She thought she escaped on a private jet. She didn't realize the purple backpack contained a tracking device.The ambulance sirens wailed through the rainy Manhattan streets, but Michael Reynolds refused to go to the hospital.
Inside the corporate office, David Chen had retrieved the wet, crumpled purple backpack from the trash. He unzipped the hidden back compartment—the one Lily had labeled with the crooked hand-drawn heart.
Inside was not a doll or a toy.
It was a custom-built, military-grade GPS transmitter, wired directly to a backup battery.
"She knew," David whispered, staring at the blinking green light on his tablet screen. "She put a tracker in her own bag because she knew they would try to run."
Michael, sitting up on the office couch while paramedics administered an IV of high-dose steroids, grabbed David’s arm. "Where are they?"
"They’re heading down the Van Wyck Expressway," David said, tracking the red dot on the screen. "They’re ten minutes from the private hangar at JFK. Michael, your ex-wife’s plane is registered in Switzerland. If that plane takes off and enters international airspace, the U.S. authorities can't force it down. We have less than twenty minutes."
"Call the airport police," Arthur Vance said.
"We tried," David replied. "Rebecca’s Swiss diplomatic paperwork is real. The airport police are hesitant to block a foreign-registered aircraft without a federal warrant, and the federal judge is asleep."
Michael pulled the IV out of his arm.
"Michael, no! You can't travel!" the paramedic warned. "Your blood pressure is spiking. You could have a stroke!"
"My daughter is on that plane," Michael said, his eyes burning with a fierce, terrifying light. "I don't care if I never walk again. I am going to that airport."
Using a modified wheelchair with heavy-duty treads that he had designed himself, Michael rolled out to his custom SUV. Rosa took the wheel, while David Chen sat in the passenger seat, furiously typing on his laptop to bypass the security firewalls of JFK’s private aviation terminal.
"I’m hacking the hangar’s gate control," David said, his fingers flying. "But James’s jet is already on the tarmac. They’re taxiing to Runway 4."
"Can you stop the plane?" Michael asked, his body vibrating with tension.
"I can't hack a physical plane's steering, Michael! That’s a closed hydraulic system."
"But you can hack the runway lighting," Michael said, his brilliant tech mind working at warp speed despite the physical pain racking his body. "If the runway goes dark, the FAA rules state all takeoffs must be aborted immediately."
"Michael, that's a federal crime. We could go to prison," David said.
"I’ll buy the prison," Michael growled. "Do it."
As the SUV roared through the airport gates, bypassing the security guards who chased them with sirens blaring, David hit 'Enter.'
Instantly, the massive runway lights of JFK’s Terminal 4 flickered and died. The entire southern runway went pitch black.
On board the private Gulfstream, the pilot slammed on the brakes.
"What the hell was that?" James shouted from the cabin, almost flying out of his leather seat.
"Sir, the runway lights just went out," the pilot reported over the intercom. "ATC is ordering us to hold our position. We have a total black-out."
"Ignore them! Take off anyway!" Rebecca screamed, clutching Lily’s arm. Lily was crying, her face pressed against the window.
"I can't do that, ma'am! It's a suicide run without runway guidance!"
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Suddenly, the headlights of a heavy SUV blinded the cockpit.
The SUV screeched to a halt directly in front of the jet’s nose cone, blocking its path.
