Chapter 4 - The Ghost Flight
The Gulfstream G650 cut through the turbulent winter storms of the North Atlantic like a silver bullet.
Inside the cabin, the lighting was dim, casting long, sharp shadows across the leather seats. Marcus Mercer sat at the mahogany table, his eyes fixed on a high-resolution satellite map of his Beverly Hills estate displayed on a tablet.
Beside him, Victor was cleaning a compact, black semi-automatic pistol, the rhythmic clink-slide of the metal pieces the only sound against the hum of the jet engines.
"We just cleared Greenland airspace," Victor reported, snapping the magazine into the grip with a sharp clack. "Colonel Vance’s contacts bypassed the FAA tracking grids. To the West Coast air traffic control, we are registered as a non-commercial medical evacuation flight carrying an organ transplant from Calgary. We land at Van Nuys private airfield in exactly four hours."
Marcus didn't look up from the screen. "Who is on the ground at the house?"
"Our local surveillance feeds show a white, unmarked delivery van parked in the lower service driveway," Victor said, tapping his own screen to display a thermal camera feed of the Beverly Hills property. "There are three individuals currently inside the residence: Cassandra Vale, Thomas Wells, and a private security contractor named Carl Vance—no relation to the Colonel. He’s a dirty, ex-cop who handles 'discreet' removals for Wells."
Marcus’s hand tightened around his silver pen. "And Lily?"
"Thermal shows a small heat signature in the master bedroom closet," Victor said, his voice dropping into a softer, more respectful tone. "She’s still there. But Vance is currently moving toward the master suite with a heavy tool. They’re going to breach the door within fifteen minutes."
"Call the house," Marcus ordered.
May you like
Victor looked up, surprised. "Sir, if we alert them—"
"Call the house," Marcus repeated, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated menace. "I want them to know exactly who is coming."
