Chapter 12 - THE BREACH.
The airstrip was surrounded by a heavy chain-link fence topped with razor wire, designed to keep out curious locals.
Two armored SUVs were parked parallel to the main gate, blocking the entrance completely.
Four mercenaries armed with heavy assault rifles stood behind the vehicles, their eyes scanning the dark valley.
I was approaching at over eighty miles an hour, leaving a massive plume of dust trailing behind me.
They heard the roar of the motorcycle engine before they could see my headlight piercing the fog.
Muzzle flashes erupted from the barricade, lighting up the night as a hail of bullets tore through the air around me.
I ducked low over the handlebars, making my profile as small as physically possible.
A bullet grazed the fiberglass fairing of the bike, sending a shower of sparks into my face.
There was no time to stop, no time to engage them in a prolonged firefight, and no time to find another way in.
I spotted a sloping pile of excavated dirt and gravel situated just to the right of the main gate.
I veered hard, abandoning the road and aiming the front wheel directly at the makeshift ramp.
The mercenaries adjusted their aim, but the bike hit the dirt mound with explosive force, launching me high into the air.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I soared over the razor wire, suspended in the freezing night sky.
I let go of the handlebars, kicking the heavy motorcycle away from me just before I cleared the fence.
The bike crashed violently onto the tarmac, skidding in a shower of brilliant sparks before smashing into one of the armored SUVs.
I hit the ground rolling, tucking my shoulder to absorb the kinetic energy of the brutal fall.
The asphalt shredded the sleeves of my jacket, but the thick kevlar weave saved my flesh from being torn to the bone.
I sprang to my feet instantly, drawing my pistol before the guards could recover from the shock of my aerial assault.
I fired four rapid shots, dropping two of the mercenaries before they could even reacquire their targets.
The remaining two guards scrambled for cover behind the burning wreckage of the motorcycle.
I did not stop to finish them off, sprinting at full speed toward the runway.
The Gulfstream was already beginning to move, its massive tires rolling slowly down the illuminated tarmac.
The high-pitched whine of the jet engines reached a deafening crescendo, vibrating violently in my chest.
I pushed my legs harder, my lungs burning as I chased down the gleaming silver aircraft.
This was exactly like the security footage the police had shown me, the file clearly labeled 7.mp4 in the detective's digital folder.
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It was a cold, calculated escape, executed with flawless precision by a woman who believed she was utterly untouchable.
But Eleanor had never accounted for the lengths a mother would go to in order to protect her child.
