Chapter 5 - Crossfire on the Airstrip
The white glare of the spotlights turned the swirling sleet into a blinding curtain of diamond-sharp needles.
“Inside! Get inside the vehicle!” Silas shouted, his voice cutting through the wind with military authority as he shoved Khloe and the boy deeper into the armored cabin of the Suburban.
Victor Sterling had already drawn his Sig Sauer pistol, dropping to one knee beside the rear tire while scanning the perimeter fence where three unmarked black SUVs had silently blocked the exit road from the tarmac.
“Who is it?” Silas demanded, pulling his own weapon from a concealed shoulder holster beneath his overcoat—a sleek, customized Kimber 1911 that looked terrifyingly professional in his hands.
“ Rival syndicate,” Victor barked back, firing two rapid shots toward the perimeter fence to force the attackers to take cover. “The Marcone crew out of Joliet. They tracked the flight diversion.”
Inside the Suburban, Leo buried his face in Khloe’s chest, his small body trembling violently at the sound of the gunfire. The concussive thud of the pistol shots vibrated through the floorboards, terrifyingly real and inescapable.
Khloe wrapped her arms around the boy, pressing her hands firmly over his ears to muffle the concussive vibrations, while her own heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She had signed up to serve drinks on a private jet, not to become a human shield in a mob turf war on an abandoned airstrip in Rockford.
“Stay down!” Silas yelled over the roar of another volley of gunfire pinging off the armored steel paneling of the Suburban’s rear door.
A bullet starred the driver’s side window with a spiderweb crack of tempered glass.
The driver swore loudly, throwing the vehicle into reverse with a violent lurch that slammed the Suburban back against a snowbank. “Boss, we’re boxed in! They’ve got heavy weapons on the access road!”
Silas’s jaw tightened into a rigid line of absolute fury. He glanced back into the cabin, his pale grey eyes locking onto Khloe and his terrified son. For a fraction of a second, the mask of the cold logistics kingpin cracked, revealing the raw, agonizing panic of a father whose world was cornered.
“Victor!” Silas roared, kicking open the opposite door. “Suppress their advance! We’re making a break for the hangar side door!”
“Boss, it’s suicide out there!” Victor fired three more rounds, his magazine clicking empty. He slammed a fresh mag home with practiced speed.
“Move!” Silas shouted.
He lunged back into the cabin, reaching out to take Leo from Khloe’s arms. But the moment Silas’s hands touched the boy, Leo began screaming again, thrashing wildly in blind terror, unable to process the chaos, the gunfire, or his father’s frantic commands.
“Give him to me!” Khloe yelled over the gunfire.
Silas hesitated, looking from the screaming child to Khloe’s resolute face. “He’ll slow you down—”
“He won't slow down someone who knows how to hold him!” Khloe shouted back. “You cover the exit, Mr. Costello. Let me manage the boy!”
Silas didn't argue. He gave a sharp, decisive nod, turned, and fired two precise shots out the open door, driving the attackers back behind a snowbank.
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“Go!” Silas ordered.
Khloe clutched Leo tightly against her chest, burying his face in the crook of her neck to block out the blinding lights and the terrifying flashes of gunfire. With her head bowed, she scrambled out of the Suburban behind Silas, low to the ground, relying entirely on the rhythm of his boots to guide her across the freezing, bullet-swept tarmac toward the dark, cavernous shelter of the hangar.
