I shifted my aim a fraction of an inch to the right and fired.
Not at my mother.
At the massive, high-pressure aviation fuel tank situated directly behind the cargo plane’s left engine.
The bullet pierced the pressurized steel. The spark ignited the vapor.
The explosion was catastrophic. A massive fireball erupted in the confined space of the hangar, blowing the mercenaries off their feet. The shockwave threw Evelyn backward against the tarmac.
In the chaos, amidst the screaming and the roaring flames, Erica stumbled, lowering her weapon to shield her face from the heat.
I sprinted forward, diving into the smoke. I tackled Erica to the ground, slamming the butt of my pistol into her jaw. She went limp.
I grabbed Jason’s chair, pulling a combat knife from my boot, and slashed through the heavy zip-ties binding his wrists.
“Run!” I screamed, hauling him to his feet. “Get to the door!”
Jason did not hesitate. He scrambled blindly toward the exit.
I turned back. The cargo plane was engulfed in flames, the secondary explosions from the crates detonating inside the hull like a string of massive firecrackers.
Through the thick, black smoke, I saw her. Evelyn was on her knees, her heavy coat singed, blood dripping from a cut on her forehead. She was looking at the burning wreckage of her empire, her life’s work turning to ash.
She slowly turned her gaze to me. Through the flames, our eyes met one last time. There was no motherly warmth, no forgiveness. Only the cold recognition of an adversary who had finally been defeated.
The roof of the hangar groaned, the steel beams buckling under the intense heat.
I turned and ran, bursting through the side door out into the freezing, blinding blizzard, leaving the ghost to burn in the fire she had started.
For illustration purposes only
Epilogue
The fallout was biblical.
The fire at the airfield, coupled with the highway explosion, triggered a massive federal investigation. The evidence I pulled from Jason, along with the digital recorder and the files recovered from the ashes of my father’s house, blew the lid off a twenty-year international smuggling ring operating under the guise of military logistics.
My father survived the gunshot wound, but the man who recovered in the hospital was a shell. He and Linda are currently awaiting trial in federal lockup, facing decades of charges for conspiracy and treason. Jason moved his family to the East Coast, changing his name, desperately trying to scrub the stain of the Hale legacy from his life. We do not speak much, but when we do, there is a quiet, mutual understanding of the nightmare we survived.
