Chapter 7 - THE AMBUSH ON THE TARMAC
The black armored SUV raced down the empty, winding roads of northern Illinois, cutting through the dense pine forests toward the private airstrip in Waukegan.
In the back seat, little Ellie had finally fallen asleep, her head resting comfortably in my lap, clutching her one-eared gray rabbit. The heavy envelope of passports, cash, and airline tickets sat securely in my bag. Zurich. A clean slate. Safety.
Up front, Marco kept both hands locked on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror with a professional, hyper-vigilant intensity.
“How much longer, Marco?” I asked quietly, not wanting to wake Ellie.
“About ten minutes, Mrs. Jenkins,” Marco replied without taking his eyes off the road. “Once we hit the private gates, the pilot will be waiting on the tarmac with the engines hot. You’ll be in the air before midnight.”
I let out a long, shaky breath that I felt like I’d been holding for twelve hours.
Suddenly, Marco’s radio hissed with static.
“Marco! Do you copy? Marco!”
It was Vincent’s voice, crackling over the encrypted channel, distorted by heavy interference.
Marco hit the dash mic with one hand. “Boss! We’re five miles out from the airstrip. Everything is clear.”
“Turn around!” Vincent’s voice roared through the speaker, frantic and laced with sheer panic. “It’s a setup! The airfield is compromised—!”
Before Vincent could finish the sentence, a blinding wall of white light erupted directly in front of us.
Three heavy-duty black pickup trucks roared out from a hidden logging access road, blocking both lanes of the dark highway. The lead truck slammed its brakes, kicking up a storm of gravel and rubber smoke.
Marco cursed violently, slamming on the brakes. The heavy armored SUV skidded sideways across the wet asphalt, narrowly avoiding a direct collision with the barricade.
“Get down!” Marco yelled, drawing his sidearm in a fraction of a second.
Bang! Bang-bang!
Automatic gunfire hammered against the exterior of our vehicle. Sparks showered across the bulletproof windshield as 5.56 rounds chewed through the hood.
“Marco! What’s happening?!” I screamed, throwing my body over Ellie to shield her from the flying glass.
“Marcone men!” Marco barked, firing back through his lowered side window with deadly precision. One of the gunmen outside stumbled backward and fell out of sight. “They knew we were heading to the airstrip! Dominic must have leaked our route before I locked him in the basement!”
More gunfire erupted from the flanking trucks. The tires of our SUV blew out simultaneously with a deafening pop, the heavy vehicle lurching violently to the right before coming to a dead stop against a concrete ditch.
“We have to run!” Marco shouted, kicking open his door under a fresh wave of suppressive fire. He reached into the back seat, grabbed my arm, and hauled me and Ellie out into the wet mud beside the road.
“Keep your head down! Follow me into the tree line!” Marco ordered, firing cover shots with his pistol as we sprinted toward the dense forest.
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The sound of boots splashing through the mud behind us told us we were being hunted.
“Faster, Mrs. Jenkins! Move!” Marco yelled, shoving us deeper into the dark, tangled underbrush of the northern pine forest just as a hail of bullets ripped through the branches right where we had been standing a second before.
