Chapter 10 - The Final Countdown
The digital countdown timer on the helicopter's tactical display flashed in harsh, unyielding crimson numbers: 00:04:52... 00:04:51...
Inside the cabin, the amber emergency lighting cast long shadows over the seats. Claire held Emma tightly against her chest, the little girl now sleeping fitfully, her fever finally beginning to break under the influence of emergency cooling packs Marcus had managed to scavenge from the medical kit.
"Marcus, override the flight path," Vincent commanded, leaning over the center console into the cockpit. "We're bypassing the hospital first. Drop us directly on the tarmac of the downtown private airfield."
Marcus’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the controls. "Boss, are you insane? That airfield is wired with C4! The thermal sensors indicate a massive explosive charge rigged directly to the main hangar where Sophia’s jet is parked. If we land there now, we'll be caught in the blast radius!"
"If we don't land there, she escapes with the master servers, and every cartel in Europe hunts my family down for the rest of our lives," Vincent replied, his voice leaving zero room for argument. "Do it."
Marcus swallowed hard, gripping the cyclic control stick and banking the twin-engine helicopter hard to the left, plunging the aircraft into a steep, high-speed descent toward the glittering skyscrapers of downtown Chicago looming through the rain.
Below them, the private airfield lights cut through the fog like glowing beacons. Sitting on the center runway was a sleek, white private jet with its engines already whining at full throttle, preparing to taxi down the strip.
"She's moving!" Claire shouted from the back cabin, pointing out the window as she watched the jet begin to roll forward.
Vincent reached down, checking the magazine of his tactical pistol one last time. He turned back to look at Claire, his blue-gray eyes softening for a fraction of a second, carrying a silent apology and a lifetime of unspoken devotion.
"Stay here with Emma," Vincent instructed quietly. "If I don't come back—"
"Don't you dare talk like that," Claire interrupted, her brown eyes flashing with fierce, unbroken determination. She reached out, grabbing the lapel of his fitted black shirt and pulling him close, her voice steady and absolute. "You survive this, Vincent Moretti. Because if you think I'm letting you off the hook that easily after seven years of your idiocy, you've got another thing coming. You come back, and we fix this together."
May you like
Vincent stared at her, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his hardened expression. He nodded once.
As the helicopter slammed down onto the tarmac right in front of the moving private jet, cutting off its path, Vincent kicked the cabin door open and leaped out into the pouring rain—just as the digital countdown timer on the hangar wall hit zero.
