Chapter 10 - The Final Confession
The screaming whine of the executive jet’s turbofans spooled down into a low, angry idle, leaving behind a thick cloud of blue exhaust smoke and the smell of burning rubber.
Before the aircraft doors could even pop open from the inside, I threw my truck door open, leaped onto the tarmac, and sprinted up the aluminum boarding stairs. I hit the heavy cabin door with my shoulder, throwing it inward with a loud crash.
Inside the plush leather-lined cabin, Cross was fumbling with a secure satellite phone while trying to force open the cockpit emergency hatch.
“It’s over, Cross,” I said, stepping into the aisle and leveling a service pistol I had pulled from a fallen officer's holster near the hangar entrance.
Cross froze, slowly turning around with his hands raised, a twisted, desperate grin on his face. “You think arresting me stops the board, Callahan? Marcus Vance is already on a private flight out of Zurich. You haven't won anything.”
“I didn't come here to stop the board,” I said, stepping forward and kicking the satellite phone out of his hand across the carpeted floor. “I came for the confession.”
I reached down, scooped up the fallen phone, and saw that the recording line was still active, blinking with a steady green recording indicator linked directly to the federal prosecutor’s terminal downtown.
From the speaker of the phone, Assistant U.S. Attorney Thorne’s voice came through clearly.
“We heard every word, Captain Callahan. That’s more than enough evidence to issue an Interpol red notice for Marcus Vance and seize every overseas asset Apex Defense owns.”
I let out a long, ragged breath, lowering the pistol slightly as the weight of the past forty-eight hours finally settled onto my shoulders. I looked down at the phone, then out the cabin window where the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers illuminated the rainy tarmac.
“Is it over, Dad?”
May you like
I turned around. Standing at the bottom of the boarding stairs, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket with an IV pole being carefully wheeled by a medical tech, was Violet. Her face was bruised, her eyes were tired, but she was standing on her own two feet, looking up at me through the rain.
I dropped the pistol onto the cabin seat, turned on my heel, and ran down the stairs to catch my daughter before she could take another step.
