Chapter 23 - THE RAT’S CONFESSION
The hangar on the edge of the abandoned private airfield in Farmingdale was shrouded in fog. Two black town cars sat idling near the rear ramp of a Gulfstream jet, their headlights cutting narrow beams through the mist.
Marcus Vance stood near the wing, bundled in a cashmere overcoat, smoking a cigar while speaking rapidly on a burner phone.
“I don't care if the girl cries, Julian,” Marcus was saying as we approached unseen through the catwalk shadows overhead. “Dose her with a mild sedative. Just keep her alive until the transfer documents are signed. Vincent will trade every port from Boston to Miami for that brat's life, and once the papers are inked, we eliminate both him and—”
A single subsonic bullet whistled through the night air, shattering Marcus’s phone into a shower of plastic and sparks.
Marcus screamed, tumbling backward against the plane’s landing gear. His four private security guards reached for their holsters, but they never cleared leather. From the shadows of the tarmac, Vincent’s perimeter men fired simultaneously with lethal accuracy. Four bodies hit the concrete with dull thuds.
Before Marcus could crawl three feet, a heavy combat boot slammed down on his chest, pinning him to the floor.
Vincent stood over his father-in-law, his expression devoid of humanity.
“Hello, Marcus,” Vincent said softly.
“Vincent! Wait—wait, listen to me!” the older man stammered, his face pale with horror as blood trickled from a cut on his cheek. “It’s not what you think! Julian threatened me! He said he’d butcher Elena if I didn't give him the codes!”
Vincent didn't blink. He reached down, grasped Marcus by his silk lapels, and hoisted him off the ground with one arm, slamming him against the metal fuselage of the jet.
“You sold my daughter to a monster,” Vincent whispered, pressing the warm barrel of his pistol against Marcus’s kneecap. “You have five seconds to give me Julian’s coordinates. At four seconds, you lose the right leg. At three, the left. At two, you will beg me for the bullet I will give you at zero.”
“I don't know the exact room!” Marcus shrieked, sweating profusely. “He took her to the Old Foundry on Shelter Island! The decommissioned naval battery near the cliffs! He’s got an armed militia waiting for you, Vincent! It's an ambush! He wants you to come for her so he can blow the whole bedrock!”
Vincent studied the old man’s terrified eyes for a beat. He knew the look of a coward who had emptied his last secret.
Vincent lowered the gun from his knee. Marcus let out a ragged sob of relief. “Thank you, Vincent… God, thank you… family is family, right?”
“Elena asked me to give you a message before I left,” Vincent replied quietly.
Marcus blinked. “What? What did she say?”
Vincent pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Marcus’s shoulder, dropping him back down to the tarmac writhing in pain.
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“She said she has no father,” Vincent stated coldly, turning on his heel. “Tie him to the landing gear. Call the federal marshals using Daniel Bennett’s evidence docket. Let Marcus spend the rest of his miserable life in a maximum-security cage.”
***
