Chapter 6 - High-Speed Descent
The windshield wipers beat back and forth in a frantic, useless rhythm. Sheets of gray water cascaded over the hood of the black Explorer as Elena wove through the congestion of the Kennedy Expressway at eighty miles per hour.
The red and blue emergency strobes sliced through the blinding spray. Cars swerved onto the shoulders, their horns wailing in protest as Elena utilized every inch of the median, clipping safety cones and throwing up six-foot rooster tails of muddy water.
Noah gripped the dashboard with white knuckles, his face drained of color as the speedometer crept past ninety.
"Elena, the bridge is bottlenecked at River Road!" Noah shouted, staring at the GPS display on his phone. "Construction reduced it to a single lane! If we get stuck behind a semi-truck, the plane will be at thirty thousand feet before we even see the runway!"
Elena glanced down at the tactical dashboard. She hit the radio button linking directly to the Chicago Police Department’s emergency dispatch.
"Chicago Dispatch, this is Captain Elena Ward, US Army CID attachment. I am escorting a Level-One priority asset. I need the eastbound River Road off-ramp closed to civilian traffic immediately, and I need the construction barricades at Exit 79 breached!"
"Vehicle 404, we don't have authorization for a full closure—"
"Check your monitor, Dispatch!" Colonel Miller’s authoritative voice cut through the channel from the courthouse command center. "This is a Department of Defense active intercept under the Insurrection Act! Clear the damn road!"
There was a two-second pause. "Copy that, 404. River Road ramp is being closed. Unit 12 is deploying road blocks now."
Elena jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. The two-and-a-half-ton SUV slid sideways across three lanes of standing water, the anti-lock brakes vibrating violently beneath her boot before the tires caught traction. The vehicle launched up the off-ramp, smashing through a series of orange plastic barricades, sending them spinning into the air like dry autumn leaves.
Beside her, Noah pulled up the airport layout on his tablet. "Signature Flight Support is on the south end of the airfield. Gate 41-Delta. It's a private terminal, heavily fortified. Dad had them install military-grade crash barriers at the vehicle entry gates after 9/11."
"What’s the barrier rating?" Elena asked, her voice eerily calm as she floored the accelerator down the empty service road parallel to the runway fence.
"K-12," Noah answered, his voice trembling. "It’s designed to stop a fifteen-ton truck moving at fifty miles per hour. If you hit that gate, the engine will be pushed into our laps."
Elena looked through the rain-streaked window. Ahead, through the mist and the gloom, the glowing red beacons of the O'Hare airfield materialized. Massive commercial airliners were lined up on the taxiways like prehistoric beasts, their jet engines roaring as they waited out the storm.
And there, parked near the edge of the private hangars, was the sleek, silver silhouette of the Gulfstream G650.
Its twin Rolls-Royce engines were whining at idle, emitting a high-pitched, deafening scream that cut through the thunder. The main cabin door was already closed. The retractable stairs had been pulled up. Ground crew workers in high-visibility vests were frantically disconnecting the auxiliary power cables.
The plane began to turn its nose toward Runway 28-Center.
"They're taxiing," Noah breathed, panic choking his throat. "Elena, they're moving!"
Elena didn't look at the crash barrier. She looked at the service gate three hundred yards to the left—a lightweight chain-link fence marked with signs reading: *WARNING: AUTHORIZED AIRFIELD PERSONNEL ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.*
"Hang on," Elena said.
"Wait, Elena, that leads directly over an open drainage ditch!"
"I said hang on, Noah!"
May you like
Elena pulled down her tactical cap, locked her elbows against the steering wheel, and aimed the heavy bumper of the Ford Explorer directly at the steel fence posts.
***
