Page 137 of Brutal Reign
“We stop that plane from leaving the ground, whatever it takes.”
“Vadim and Niko,” I say through the comm as our SUVs split to approach different sections of the fence. “Get into position with clear lines of sight to the cockpit. The second the lights are cut and that aircraft stops moving, take out the pilots.”
“Understood,” comes Vadim’s steady reply.
This isn’t some major airport with sophisticated security. It’s a private strip used by fly-by-night operators. Perfect for what we’re about to do.
Parking behind a cluster of fuel trucks, we exit the vehicle and move into a crouch. Two of our men cut through the fence with bolt cutters, the metal parting with soft snaps that barely disturb the night air. I slip through first, then wave Roman andMaxim forward. We move low and fast across the open tarmac, using shadows until we reach a maintenance truck positioned about fifty yards from the jet’s rear exit—close enough to move fast when the time comes, far enough to avoid detection.
Roman slips toward the hangar, setting up the distraction we’ll need. Now it’s just Maxim and me, focused on the real work: getting my family out alive.
Sweat runs down my spine, and my mouth goes dry as the jet begins taxiing toward the runway, engines spooling louder with every passing second. Christ, this needs to happen now.
“Dinara, do you have an update?” I demand, pulse hammering in my chest.
“I’m in,” she announces. “Ready to shut it down.”
I take a breath and steel myself. There’s no guarantee the pilots will abort takeoff just because of a power outage, but it’s a chance I have to take. If that plane reaches Hong Kong, finding them becomes nearly impossible.
I raise the binoculars again, scanning the aircraft for threats, but the tinted windows make it impossible to see inside.
Eva’s voice carries new urgency. “They’re moving toward the runway.”
Through my binoculars, I watch the jet pick up speed. In ninety seconds, it’ll be airborne. It’s now or never.
“Kill the power,” I order.
The entire airstrip plunges into darkness. Runway lights die, the hangar goes black, and everything except the jet’s internal lighting disappears. I immediately pull on my night-vision goggles, the world shifting to green-tinged clarity. For what feels like an eternity, the aircraft continues rolling.
Then, slowly, it begins to decelerate, the jet aborting its takeoff. My shoulders drop an inch.
As soon as the plane stops, I give Vadim the signal. “Take them out.”
Two rifle cracks echo across the tarmac from the eastern perimeter, where Vadim and Niko are positioned. Even from this distance, I see the cockpit window shatter, and the two bodies in the pilot’s seats slump forward.
“That plane isn’t going anywhere.” Vadim’s voice drips with satisfaction.
The knot in my stomach loosens, but the hard part is just beginning: getting Hope and Kin out safely. Simon and Chen know they’re trapped, and trapped men do reckless things—especially when they have hostages.
A brief flash of light from the rear of the jet catches my attention: a window shade opening for maybe two seconds, then snapping shut.
“Did you see that?” Maxim whispers.
I nod, warmth filling my chest despite the circumstances. Hope just showed us where she and Kin are sitting. Even terrified, she’s thinking like a survivor and refusing to give up.
“Six guards exited the aircraft,” Eva reports. “They’re concentrating around the front of the plane.”
Exactly what I hoped. They expect a frontal assault.
“Roman, engage the guards from the western side. Draw their fire and attention away from the rear of the plane.”
The firefight erupts in planned chaos. Roman’s team opens fire, muzzle flashes strobing in the darkness, ricochets sparking off the tarmac. The sound is deafening but effective. Immediately, the guards around the jet return fire, their attention focused on the immediate threat.
I check my weapons one more time, then signal to Maxim with a tilt of my chin.
We sprint across the open tarmac toward the rear of the aircraft, using the cover of darkness and Roman’s assault to mask our movement. My boots pound against concrete as weclose the distance, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a shred of hope.
The aircraft’s rear exit is about ten feet off the ground, accessible via a set of retractable stairs that are currently folded up. Maxim produces a grappling hook and rope, securing it to the door handle before holding up a small explosive charge, waiting for my go-ahead.
