Chapter 7 - Pursuit in the Tempest
Rain battered the windshield of Alexander’s twin-engine Eurocopter as it sliced through the midnight storm toward northern New Jersey. The city lights below looked like blurred jewels drowning in black water.
Inside the cabin, Elena sat beside Alexander, reviewing real-time satellite imagery displayed on Briggs' military-grade tablet.
"Blackwell’s convoy consists of two armored Escalades," Briggs explained over the roar of the rotors. "They’ve cleared the perimeter of Teterboro Airport. A Gulfstream G650 is already on the tarmac with engines idling. Flight plan shows a direct course for Switzerland."
Alexander adjusted his tactical headset. "Do we have clearance over the runway?"
"Air traffic control belongs to the Sterling Aviation logistics wing, sir," Briggs replied grimly. "They've locked down the radar. They’re running a rogue operation."
"Then we don't ask for permission," Alexander said.
He looked at Elena. Her dark hair was pulled tight, her eyes focused entirely on the digital readout of the enemy's coordinates.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked softly.
Elena met his gaze. "Two years ago, Marcus Blackwell took everything from me. He took my father, my profession, my name, and my dignity. He forced me to clean his associates' floors just to stay alive." Her fingers gripped the medical kit on her lap until her knuckles turned white. "I am more than ready."
The helicopter banked sharply, dropping out of the storm clouds like a raptor diving on its quarry.
Below them, on the wet tarmac of the private runway, the two black Escalades screeched to a halt beside the gleaming Gulfstream jet. Men in dark raincoats began offloading heavy metal cases from the trunks.
Victoria Sterling stood near the airstair, her drenched evening gown ruined by grease and rain, her face twisted in terrified impatience. Beside her, Marcus Blackwell was screaming into a phone, motioning for the pilots to prepare for immediate takeoff.
"Briggs, spotlight on the jet engines," Alexander commanded.
A blinding million-candlepower searchlight erupted from the bottom of the Eurocopter, pinning Blackwell and Victoria in an inescapable beam of daylight.
The downdraft from the helicopter's massive rotors whipped the rain into a hurricane across the tarmac, sending Victoria stumbling backward into the metal stairs.
"THIS IS ALEXANDER VANCE," the helicopter's external PA system boomed across the airfield, cold and thunderous. "CUT YOUR ENGINES AND STEP AWAY FROM THE AIRCRAFT."
Instead of complying, Blackwell reached inside his coat, pulled a pistol, and fired three rounds into the sky.
"Hold on!" the pilot shouted, pulling the stick as the helicopter flared for a combat landing fifty yards away.
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The battle for the truth had begun.
***
