Chapter 65 - Operation Iron Trident
By Thursday midnight, the private hangar at Teterboro Airport was a blur of high-octane urgency and silent, lethal efficiency.
A sleek, matte-black Gulfstream G650 stood ready on the tarmac, its twin jet engines whining softly against the freezing winter wind. Standing at the foot of the boarding stairs was Arthur, flanked by six elite tactical operators dressed in tactical carbon-fiber gear, their faces hidden behind dark visors.
Evelyn stepped out of her town car, pulling her wool coat tightly around her shoulders as she walked across the frost-covered asphalt. She wasn't wearing her usual corporate board attire; instead, she wore a dark tactical turtleneck, reinforced cargo trousers, and heavy-duty combat boots.
Arthur saluted sharply as she approached. "All teams are prepped and airborne, Madam Chair. Our modified transport will land at a private airstrip outside Valletta, Malta, within six hours. Local intelligence confirms that Thorne’s flagship mercenary vessel, the Siren’s Ghost, is anchored in a private cove twenty miles off the southern coast."
"And our seized cargo containers?" Evelyn asked, her breath forming white clouds in the freezing air.
"Contained within a heavily fortified warehouse inside the port authority yards," Arthur replied, tapping a tactical tablet. "Guarded by roughly thirty armed private contractors on Thorne's payroll."
"Thirty men against six of our best?" Evelyn smiled coldly. "They won't even know what hit them."
"With respect, Madam Chair," Arthur hesitated, stepping closer. "This is no longer a corporate dispute or a legal cleanup. This is a direct military engagement in foreign sovereign waters. You don't need to put yourself on the front lines of a combat zone."
Evelyn stopped, turning her piercing gaze directly onto Arthur. Her eyes held an unyielding, terrifying resolve.
"Arthur, listen to me very carefully," she commanded, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "Julian Thorne murdered my husband. He tore my family apart, hunted me across continents, and tried to burn my empire to ash. I sat in Geneva while corrupt tribunals tried to silence me. I walked through every fire he set. Do you honestly believe I am going to sit safely behind a mahogany desk in Manhattan while someone else pulls the trigger on the man who ruined my life?"
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Arthur stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, a grim, respectful smile touched his scarred face.
"No, Madam Chair," he murmured, stepping aside to clear the boarding stairs. "I didn't think so for a second. Welcome aboard."
