The frantic distress call from Air Force One played on a continuous loop in my mind as I sprinted through the dense, unforgiving timber of the Appalachian Mountains. The sun had dipped below the ridgeline, casting the forest in deep, confusing shadows. Every breath tore at my throat, my legs burning with the exertion of climbing over deadfalls and navigating steep, rocky ravines.
I wasn't just running for my life anymore. I was running to stop a coup.
Vance’s words on the satellite phone echoed in my ears. Is the package secured?
He hadn't asked if the President was dead. He had asked about a package. The assassination was the objective, but there was a secondary prize onboard that downed plane. I knew the President never traveled without the nuclear football—the biometric briefcase containing the launch codes. But Vance was a four-star general; he knew the protocols. Stealing the football wouldn't give him control of the arsenal. It had to be something else. Something the President was bringing back from the summit.
A mile down into the valley, the sharp, rhythmic crack of high-powered rifle fire shattered the quiet of the woods.
I dropped to a crouch instantly, my hand instinctively going to the heavy 9mm at my hip. The gun felt entirely inadequate for what I was running toward, but it was all I had.
I moved forward with agonizing slowness, placing every footstep carefully on the damp moss to avoid snapping twigs. The forest began to thin out, dropping away into a wide, shallow gorge.
Through the break in the trees, I saw it.
The massive bulk of Air Force One lay broken across the valley floor like a wounded leviathan. The plane had sheared through the tops of the trees, creating a massive trench of destroyed timber before coming to a violent halt. The tail section was entirely gone. The main fuselage was cracked in two places, and a small, persistent fire burned near the left wing root, casting flickering orange light across the twisted metal.
Down in the gorge, the situation was desperate.
Flashes of muzzle fire strobed from the tree line surrounding the crashed plane. I could see the silhouettes of at least a dozen men in dark, unmarked tactical gear advancing slowly on the wreckage. These weren't standard military recovery teams. They moved with the cold, deliberate efficiency of mercenaries. Vance’s private hit squad.
From the shattered windows of the passenger cabin, short, controlled bursts of return fire spat back at the tree line. The Secret Service detail was alive, and they were fighting like hell, but they were vastly outnumbered and heavily outgunned.
I crept along the ridge, moving behind the advancing line of mercenaries. I needed a better weapon.
About fifty yards to my right, I spotted one of the mercs. He was positioned behind a massive, moss-covered boulder, using a high-tech thermal scope on his rifle to suppress the Secret Service agents inside the plane. He was isolated from the main group, focused entirely on the target below.
I drew my 9mm, took a slow, steadying breath, and moved.
I slipped through the shadows, stepping only when the loud crack of his rifle masked the sound of my approach. When I was ten feet away, he lowered the rifle to adjust his scope.
I lunged.
I didn't fire my weapon—the noise would have alerted the entire squad. Instead, I drove my body weight into him, slamming my forearm hard across the back of his neck. His face smashed into the unforgiving rock of the boulder with a sickening crunch. He went entirely limp, sliding to the ground without making a sound.
I crouched over his unconscious form, my heart hammering against my ribs. I quickly stripped the heavy assault rifle from his hands. It was a customized carbine, equipped with a suppressed barrel and an advanced optic. I checked the magazine. Full.
I also pulled the tactical comms earpiece from his helmet and fitted it into my own ear.
Immediately, the chatter of Vance’s ground team filled my head.
“Alpha Two, shift fire to the forward cabin,” a harsh voice commanded over the net. “They’re trying to barricade the door. Remember the objective. Leave no survivors on the detail, but the President is to be taken alive until we secure the drive.”
The drive.