Chapter 5 - The Waukegan Intercept
The storm had turned into a full-scale deluge by the time the black SUV tore through the chain-link perimeter gate of the Waukegan Regional Airport.
Rain slammed against the windshield in deafening sheets. The private airfield was largely abandoned at 0200 hours, its asphalt runways glistening under the towering halide lights. Near the far hangar, a sleek gray Gulfstream G550 sat with its twin engines idling, a soft white jet-wash blowing rain across the tarmac.
Inside the SUV, the atmosphere was dead silent.
Dominic sat in the driver's seat, wearing a dark rain jacket over his tactical vest, his pistol rested on his lap. Beside him, Evelyn was adjusting the night-vision scope on her suppressed rifle. In the back seat, Grace sat quietly, her eyes closed, her fingers moving in slow, rhythmic patterns as she mentally ran through the spatial awareness drills Evelyn had taught her over the past four months.
"Three guards stationed at the base of the air-stairs," Evelyn reported, looking through her optics. "Two more inside the SUV parked near the nose wheel. Don Paul Valenti is inside the cabin—I can see his shadow through the second starboard window."
"How do you want to handle it?" Dominic asked, looking at her with genuine tactical deference.
"Clean," Evelyn said flatly. "Valenti thinks Victor is driving this car. We pull up directly beside his escort vehicle. When the driver rolls down his window to check the pass, you neutralize him. I take out the two guards at the air-stairs. We breach the aircraft before the pilot can throttle up."
"And Grace?" Dominic asked, his voice betraying a hint of paternal anxiety.
"Grace stays in the rear cargo compartment under a Kevlar blanket until the interior is secure," Evelyn said. She turned around, looking at the twelve-year-old girl. "Grace, what is your primary instruction if you hear gunfire?"
"Stay low, cover my ears, and count to sixty," Grace answered promptly. "If the car door opens and it's not you or Dad, I use the tactical knife under the floorboard."
Dominic blinked, looking at Evelyn. "You gave her a knife?"
"She knows how to use it," Evelyn said simply. "Now let's finish this."
Dominic engaged the SUV's drive gear and stepped on the accelerator.
The vehicle rolled smoothly across the dark tarmac, its headlights cut low, appearing as nothing more than Victor Sterling’s expected arrival car. The rain muffled the engine's purr as they glided past the dark hangars and approached the idling Gulfstream.
As predicted, the black sedan parked near the nose wheel flashed its high beams twice. The driver's side window rolled down, a burly man in a heavy coat leaning out to wave them through.
Dominic brought the SUV to a smooth stop three feet from the sedan's door.
He didn't roll down his window.
Instead, Dominic stepped on the gas, turned the wheel sharply, and slammed the heavy bull-bar of his armored SUV directly into the driver's door of the sedan, pinning the guard inside the crushing metal.
Before the sound of crunching steel had even faded into the roar of the jet engines, Evelyn was out of the passenger door.
Her rifle spat three quiet, rhythmic whispers: Pfft-pfft... pfft.
The two guards standing at the base of the air-stairs crumpled to the wet asphalt like empty sacks of flour before they could even draw their sidearms. The third guard, scrambling down the stairs, was hit mid-stride, tumbling backward onto the lower platform.
Dominic threw his door open, drawing his weapon as he sprinted up the wet aluminum stairs right behind Evelyn.
They kicked open the cabin door of the luxury jet.
Inside, the cabin was plush, lined with cream leather and mahogany paneling. Sitting at the club table with a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand was Don Paul Valenti—a silver-haired, seventy-year-old man whose frail appearance betrayed a lifetime of ruthless mafia violence.
Across from him sat two high-priced corporate attorneys, their laptops open, surrounded by transfer documents for Caruso Global Logistics.
When Dominic stepped into the cabin, dripping with rain and covered in cordite residue, Valenti’s whiskey glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the carpeted floor.
"Dominic..." Valenti gasped, his face draining of all color. "How... where is Victor?"
"Victor is lying on my bedroom floor with a broken knee waiting for the state police," Dominic said, walking down the narrow aisle of the aircraft until he stood right over the old syndicate boss. "And your assault team at my estate is either dead or in handcuffs."
Valenti’s eyes darted frantically toward his attorneys, then toward the cockpit. "Pilot! Get us airborne! Now!"
Evelyn stepped into the doorway of the cockpit, holding her rifle loosely at her hip. The pilot and co-pilot instantly put their hands above their heads, shutting down the jet’s throttles.
"Game over, Paul," Dominic whispered, pulling out the encrypted flash drive he had taken from Victor. "I have every offshore bank account, every corrupt port official's name, and every wire transfer you used to pay for my wife's murder five years ago."
Valenti swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he looked up into the eyes of the man he had tried to destroy for a decade. "Dominic... please. We can make a deal. Millions. Fifty percent of the lakefront berths. Whatever you want."
May you like
Dominic looked at the old man with a cold, terrifying pity.
"I don't want your money, Paul," Dominic said softly. "I want you to spend the rest of your miserable life in a maximum-security federal facility, staring at four gray walls, knowing that a twelve-year-old blind girl was the one who broke your empire."
