Chapter 9 - THE MIDNIGHT RUNWAY SHOWDOWNThe private airstrip in Delaware was shrouded in a thick, eerie coastal fog. The rolling mist muffled the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the nearby cliffs, creating a ghost town atmosphere broken only by the flashing red beacon lights of a Gulfstream private jet sitting on the tarmac, its engines already whining with a high-pitched turbine scream.
A sleek black limousine sped across the tarmac, screeching to a halt right at the foot of the jet's mobile boarding stairs.
Miriam stepped out of the back seat. She wasn't wearing her pale blue society dress anymore. She wore a dark tactical trench coat, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, holding a secure encrypted briefcase handcuffed to her wrist.
“Hurry up!” Miriam snapped at the pilot leaning out of the cockpit door. “The airspace will be locked down by federal authorities within ten minutes!”
“We're ready to taxi, Ms. Thorne,” the pilot shouted back over the jet noise.
Miriam turned to walk up the stairs—and froze.
Blocking the end of the runway, sitting dead-center across the asphalt with its high-beams blazing blinding white through the fog, was our tactical SUV.
The driver's side door clicked open. I stepped out into the damp night air, a suppressed carbine resting casually across my chest. Marcus and two other operatives flanked me, their boots silent against the pavement.
Miriam’s face lost all color, but she quickly recovered, letting out a sharp, frigid laugh as she pulled a compact 9mm pistol from her coat and aimed it directly at my chest.
“Elias... you really don't know when to quit, do you?” Miriam sneered, her voice no longer sounding like the meek socialite she had pretended to be for years. “You think you can just stop the future? The Ouroboros syndicate is bigger than governments. Bigger than armies!”
“You tortured my daughter, Miriam,” I said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward through the mist. “You helped destroy innocent families for profit. And you thought you could just fly away.”
“I’m not flying away alone,” Miriam hissed, her finger tightening on the trigger. “Say goodbye, Colonel!”
She fired.
The bullet cracked through the air—and missed by an inch as Marcus suddenly lunged forward, tackling me aside just as I returned fire with a single, precise shot that shattered the pavement right beside her shoe.
“Drop the weapon, Miriam! Game over!” Marcus shouted, leveling his rifle.
Instead of surrendering, Miriam spun around and threw herself up the jet stairs, slamming the cabin door shut behind her.
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“She’s sealing the hatch! The jet is taxiing!” Marcus yelled over the turbine roar.
The Gulfstream's wheels began to roll forward, accelerating down the runway into the thick fog.
