Chapter 6 - The Sabotage Unveiled
The transport helicopter cut through the stormy skies over Delaware, its twin rotors beating a steady, deafening rhythm against the sleet. Inside the cabin of the VH-60 Black Hawk, Evelyn sat strapped into the jump seat, wearing a fresh military utility uniform. A field medic knelt beside her, wrapping a clean white bandage around her injured ring finger and monitoring the fetal heart tones with a portable Doppler.
*Thump-thump-thump-thump.*
The sound of her baby’s heartbeat echoed through the small speaker, rapid and strong.
“Vitals look stable, General,” Captain Sarah Lin, the flight surgeon, said gently. “The contractions were stress-induced Braxton Hicks. But your blood pressure is dangerously elevated. You’ve been through severe emotional and physical trauma today. You need bed rest, Ma’am. If your water breaks at thirty-five weeks under this kind of cortisol load, we could be looking at an emergency C-section.”
“Julian’s autopsy report arrives in fifteen minutes, Captain,” Evelyn said, her eyes fixed on the gray clouds outside the reinforced window. “I will rest when my husband is avenged and his murderers are behind bars.”
General Vance, sitting across from her, folded his tablet. “General Cross, we just received a decrypt from the FBI Cyber Division in New York. They managed to crack the secondary server in the basement of the Sterling estate in the Hamptons before Victoria’s private contractors could burn it.”
Evelyn turned her head, her jaw tightening. “What did they find?”
“It’s worse than Julian knew,” Vance said, his face darkening with disgust. “Project Ironclad wasn't just corporate cost-cutting. Victoria and Marcus Sterling were actively participating in an international industrial espionage ring. They were selling the real, combat-grade titanium alloys to an unauthorized defense broker linked to private military contractors in Eastern Europe. To cover the shortfall in their Pentagon deliveries, they substituted the high-grade materials with substandard, slag-heavy industrial metal cast in unregulated foundries in South America.”
Evelyn’s blood ran ice-cold.
Six years.
For six years, American soldiers, Marines, and special operators had rolled outside the wire in vehicles they believed were impenetrable fortresses. How many men and women had died in ambushes because a rocket-propelled grenade punched through armor that was supposed to withstand heavy kinetic rounds? How many widows had wept over closed caskets, believing their spouses were killed by enemy superiority, when in reality, they were murdered by Victoria Sterling’s quarterly profit margins?
“And Julian?” Evelyn asked, her voice dangerously calm. “What happened to Julian before his car went off the bridge?”
Vance hesitated, looking down at his tablet.
“Speak, General,” Evelyn ordered.
“The preliminary Dover pathology report just came through, Ma’am,” Vance said quietly. “Dr. Keller at the Armed Forces Institute discovered traces of succinylcholine in Julian’s deep muscle tissue.”
Evelyn felt the breath leave her lungs.
Succinylcholine. A powerful, fast-acting paralytic agent commonly used in surgical intubation—or lethal assassinations. It left no obvious traces in routine blood panels after twelve hours, especially in a drowning victim whose lungs were filled with river water.
“He was paralyzed,” Evelyn whispered, horror gripping her heart.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Vance confirmed, his hands tightening into fists. “The toxicology indicates the dose was administered roughly twenty minutes before the crash. He was likely injected via a micro-needle puncture behind his neck—possibly disguised as a mosquito bite or minor scratch. The drug didn't stop his heart immediately, but it began immobilizing his motor functions. By the time he reached the bridge, his limbs were locking up. He couldn't steer effectively. He couldn't brake. He was entirely conscious, fully aware of what was happening, but physically incapable of escaping when the truck rammed him through the railing.”
Tears burned Evelyn’s eyes, but she did not let them fall. Grief was a luxury she could not afford. The rage inside her burned so brightly it consumed the pain in her body.
Julian had not simply died in a car crash. His own mother’s agents had paralyzed him, trapped him behind the wheel of his own vehicle, and watched him drown in the freezing Hudson River while unable to move a muscle.
“Who administered the injection?” Evelyn demanded.
Vance pulled up a security log. “The Hamptons estate logs show that Julian stopped by the family mansion at 1:15 AM on the night of his death. He went to retrieve his father’s original corporate journals from the safe. According to the kitchen staff logs... Chloe Sterling made him a cup of coffee before he left.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Chloe.
The sister Julian had protected his entire life. The sister who had wept in the church pew, pretending to be an innocent victim of her mother’s ruthlessness. The sister who had ripped Julian’s wedding ring from Evelyn’s finger with sheer hatred.
“General Vance,” Evelyn said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, lethal certainty.
“Ma’am?”
“Contact Federal District Court Judge Thorne. Issue an immediate federal warrant for the arrest of Chloe Sterling for first-degree premeditated murder, conspiracy to commit treason, and domestic terrorism.”
“Understood, General.”
“Where is Chloe right now?”
“She slipped away from the cathedral during Victoria’s arrest, Ma’am,” Vance reported, checking a tactical map. “Our satellite tracking shows her personal vehicle heading toward the private airfield in Teterboro. Her passport shows a reservation for a private charter flight to the Cayman Islands scheduled to depart in thirty-five minutes.”
Evelyn reached over, unbuckled her safety harness, and stood up inside the rattling cabin of the Black Hawk.
“General, sit down!” Captain Lin urged, rushing forward with a blood pressure cuff. “You are in active pre-labor! Your body cannot handle tactical operations!”
Evelyn pushed past the doctor, her eyes locked on the cockpit door.
She slammed her hand against the pilot’s partition, sliding the window open.
“Pilot!” Evelyn roared over the scream of the turbine engines.
“Yes, General!”
May you like
“Change course immediately. Heading zero-two-zero. Maximum throttle to Teterboro Airport. We have a fugitive fleeing federal custody, and she is not leaving this country.”
***
