Chapter 9 - The Azores Tarmac9 -
The wheels of the Falcon 900 touched down on the rain-slicked tarmac of the Azores naval air station with a sharp screech of rubber, kicking up plumes of white spray against the grey concrete. Two heavily armored U.S. Navy security vehicles immediately converged on the corporate jet, boxing it in front and rear to prevent any attempt at a secondary takeoff.
Inside the transport aircraft, I checked the mag-lock on my tactical sidearm holster, secured my communication headset, and stood up as the rear cargo ramp began to lower with a slow, hydraulic hiss. The damp, Atlantic ocean breeze rushed into the cabin, carrying the sharp scent of jet fuel and sea salt.
Commander Vance walked up beside me, handing me an encrypted federal arrest warrant and a digital data-scrambler wand. "Remember, Laurel, we need that flash drive intact. If he encrypted the payload with a dead-man’s switch linked to Viktor Vance’s primary servers in Dubai, one wrong move could wipe the entire database."
"Relax, David," I gave his shoulder a reassuring clap. "I handled high-risk extractions before Derek learned how to properly fold a military supply uniform."
I walked down the metal ramp, my combat boots hitting the wet tarmac with firm, deliberate strides. Half a dozen armed security personnel fell into formation behind me, moving with the synchronized precision of a seasoned tactical squad.
The door of the Falcon 900 popped open, and a flight attendant stumbled down the portable stairs first, her hands raised in immediate surrender, trembling uncontrollably.
A moment later, Derek Vaughn appeared at the top of the stairs.
He looked pathetic. His expensive suit was crumpled, his hair was matted with sweat, and his face was the chalky, sickly grey of a corpse. When his bloodshot eyes locked onto me walking across the tarmac in a tactical flight suit with armed guards at my flank, his knees visibly buckled. He grabbed the metal handrail to keep from falling.
"Laurel...?" Derek choked out, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated disbelief. "What—what is this? Are you out of your mind? You—you hijacked a federal intercept?!"
"Step down the stairs, Derek," I ordered, my voice cutting through the rainy wind like a razor blade. "Hands where I can see them. Palms open."
"You can't do this!" Derek shrieked, taking a panicked step backward before a security officer leveled a rifle barrel toward the stairs. "I’m a civilian! I demand my lawyer! I demand consular access!"
"You're an active participant in an international arms-trafficking and military embezzlement syndicate," I replied coldly, climbing the metal stairs three at a time until I stood face-to-face with him on the landing. "And right now, you're trespassing on federal jurisdiction."
Before he could protest another word, I grabbed his arm, spun him around with a swift, fluid motion, and slammed him chest-first against the fuselage of the jet, kicking his legs apart and securing his wrists behind his back with heavy tactical zip-ties in less than three seconds.
"Get off me! You're breaking my arm!" Derek screamed into the metal side of the plane.
"Quiet down, Derek," I whispered fiercely into his ear, patting down his jacket pockets until my fingers brushed against a heavy, cold metallic object tucked inside his inner breast pocket.
I pulled it out: a military-grade, titanium-encased encrypted flash drive, identical to the one Marcus had flagged in the Apex Logistics financial ledgers.
"Got it," I spoke into my shoulder mic, holding up the drive as the security team moved in to secure him.
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As they dragged Derek away toward the security transport vehicle, kicking and screaming obscenities into the rainy wind, I slipped the titanium drive into my tactical pocket. The mission was a success. But as I stared down at the wet tarmac, a cold, sinking feeling washed over me.
Derek was just a courier—a low-level pawn in a much larger, darker game. And the moment we plugged that flash drive into the terminal back at command, we were going to open a Pandora's box that Viktor Vance had spent fifteen years keeping sealed.
