Chapter 17 - The Airfield Reckoning
The Calverton Executive Airfield sat isolated in the pine barrens of central Long Island, surrounded by rusted chain-link fences and snow-covered tarmac.
On Runway 2, a sleek Gulfstream G550 private jet sat with its twin turbine engines whining at idle, its cabin lights glowing amber through the blizzard.
Inside the heated cabin, Julian Moretti—a tall, slender man of thirty-five with slicked-back hair and a bespoke fur-lined coat—paced the aisle, checking his diamond wristwatch every thirty seconds.
“Where is the confirmation call?!” Julian screamed at his pilot. “They were supposed to breach the estate at midnight!”
“The satellite connection is jammed, sir!” the pilot yelled back from the cockpit. “We have an unidentified radar contact approaching from the south!”
Before Julian could reach for his satellite phone, the heavy cabin door of the private jet was blown off its hydraulic hinges with a deafening, explosive breach.
Tactical flashbangs filled the cabin with blinding white light and disorienting thunder.
Four Rossi soldiers stormed the aisle, securing the cockpit and disarming Julian’s personal bodyguards in seconds.
Julian stumbled backward into the leather passenger seats, drawing a gold-plated semi-automatic pistol from his coat.
A heavy black boot kicked the weapon from his grip, the gun clattering against the bulkhead.
Dominic Rossi stepped into the cabin, wearing a snow-dusted charcoal overcoat, his silver pistol resting loosely at his side.
Julian looked up, his eyes bulging with sheer, unadulterated terror as he recognized the man standing over him.
“Dominic…” Julian stammered, raising his hands, his voice cracking into a high, pathetic pitch. “Listen to me… this was business! Costa manipulated me! We can divide the northern shipping routes… fifty-fifty!”
Dominic stepped closer, his heavy leather shoes squeaking against the carpet.
He didn't yell. He didn't shout. He leaned down until his face was inches from Julian’s trembling cheek.
“You put a five-million-dollar bounty on my wife, Julian,” Dominic whispered.
Julian’s breath hitched in his throat. “I’ll give you twenty million! I have accounts in Geneva… bearer bonds in London… take everything!”
Dominic pulled a small, silver thumb drive from his pocket and dropped it onto Julian’s lap.
“Your accounts in Geneva were liquidated forty minutes ago by our cyber units,” Dominic said softly. “Your European shipping licenses have been revoked by the maritime authority. You don't have twenty million, Julian. You don't even have a ticket out of this state.”
Dominic turned around, walking toward the shattered cabin door.
“Enzo,” Dominic spoke over his shoulder.
“Yes, Boss?”
May you like
“Let the snow take care of him.”
Dominic descended the metal air stairs into the freezing winter night as the private jet’s engines were shut down forever.
