Chapter 7 - The Runway ShowdownThe rain poured down in sheets, turning the asphalt of the Bennett Meridian private airstrip into a slick, glistening mirror reflecting the flashing red-and-blue lights of federal cruisers.
I stepped out of my SUV into the storm, the wind whipping my hair across my face as I pulled my service weapon from its holster.
At the far end of the tarmac, a twin-engine Gulfstream jet sat idling on the runway, its turbine engines screaming against the gale. Standing near the open boarding stairs was Victoria. Her designer coat was soaked, her hair plastered to her skull, and in her right hand, she clutched a heavy black automatic pistol aimed unsteadily at the advancing federal agents.
"Stay back! All of you, stay back or I'll blow this plane sky-high!" she shrieked, her voice tearing over the roar of the jet engines.
"Victoria Bennett! Drop your weapon! You are completely surrounded!" Captain Vance shouted into a megaphone, taking cover behind the reinforced door of an armored tactical vehicle.
I didn't take cover. I walked straight out from behind the convoy, stepping into the open rain with my boots splashing loudly against the puddles.
Victoria stopped shouting. Her eyes widened in sheer disbelief as she saw me emerge from the shadows of the cruisers.
"Mara!" she laughed hysterically, the sound grating and manic. "You fool! You always had to be the hero, didn't you? Just like your real parents—dead and buried in a shallow grave where they belong!"
"It's over, Victoria," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the wind and rain. I raised my hand and held up the thick manila folder I had retrieved from the underground vault. "I found the files. I know who you really are. I know why you stole my identity, why you tried to wipe out my service record, and why you spent my entire life trying to cage me."
Victoria’s face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred. The trembling in her hand vanished, replaced by a cold, steady grip on the trigger.
"I raised you!" she screamed over the jet roar. "I gave you a home! And you repaid me by bringing the wolves straight to my door!"
"You didn't raise me," I replied, stepping closer, closing the distance between us step by deliberate step. "You kept me as a hostage. And the war is over."
She screamed in rage, her finger tightening on the trigger, swinging the barrel straight toward my chest.
Before she could pull it, a sharp crack echoed over the runway—not from a gun, but from the darkness beside the hangar. A federal sharpshooter’s round clipped Victoria’s wrist with surgical precision.
Her pistol flew from her hand, clattering harmlessly against the wet asphalt.
May you like
She screamed, clutching her bleeding wrist as she collapsed to her knees in the mud.
Within seconds, federal agents swarmed her from all sides, slamming her face-first into the tarmac and slapping heavy steel cuffs onto her wrists once and for all.
