Lat: 33.9249° N, Long: 119.9851° W. Time: 2300 Hours.
“That’s over the Pacific,” Marcus said, pointing at the screen. “About two hundred miles off the coast of California. Middle of absolute nowhere. Nothing out there but deep water.”
“It’s a drop zone,” I said, staring at the coordinates. “A mid-air transfer point.”
I checked my watch. It was 4:45 PM. 2300 hours was 11:00 PM. I had just over six hours.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Is the Hornet fueled?”
Marcus stood up, his chair rolling backward and hitting the glass wall. “Sarah, no. Absolutely not. I know that look. I am not letting you steal a sixty-million-dollar experimental aircraft.”
“I’m not stealing it. I’m testing it,” I said, stepping toward the hangar window and looking at the sleek, black jet. “Mark said the Black Falcons are selling Aegis modules. They’re doing the transfer tonight. If I can intercept them, use our jammer to record their comms and force them into international guard frequency, I can expose the whole ring. I can prove Vance murdered him.”
“They will shoot you down!” Marcus hissed, grabbing my arm. “You are one pilot in an unarmed test jet! You don't have missiles, Sarah! You have a radar jammer and a camera! If you fly into a hostile drop zone, they will blow you out of the sky just like they did to Mark!”
“Our jammer can blind their targeting computers,” I argued, turning to face him. “If they can't lock on, they can't shoot. I just need to get close enough to record the transfer and broadcast it to the Pacific Fleet.”
Before Marcus could respond, his desk phone rang. A harsh, shrill sound that made us both jump.
Marcus answered it, putting it on speaker.
“Engineering,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.
“Marcus, it’s Frank at the main gate,” the gruff voice of the head security guard echoed through the small office. “We’ve got a situation out here. Two military officers are demanding entry. They say they’re looking for Sarah Hayes. They claim she’s in possession of stolen government property.”
My blood ran cold.
Vance hadn't waited. He knew I wouldn't call the military police. He had sent Evans and Miller to track my car.
“Did you let them in, Frank?” Marcus asked, his eyes wide.
“Hell no, they don't have clearance,” Frank grunted. “But they’re threatening to call in a federal warrant. They said if I don't open the gate, they’re coming through it. You want me to lock down the facility?”
“Yes,” I answered, leaning toward the microphone. “Lock it down, Frank. Do not let them through.”
“Copy that, Ms. Hayes. Initiating lockdown.”
The line went dead. A second later, the massive steel doors of the hangar began to slide shut with a heavy, grinding mechanical groan, and the emergency red strobe lights kicked on, bathing the jet in a pulsing crimson glow.
“They know you have the file,” Marcus said, backing away from the desk. “Sarah, they’re going to arrest you. They’ll bury you in a federal prison and no one will ever hear that recording.”
He was right. If Vance got his hands on me, the SD card would vanish. I would be charged with espionage, discredited, and locked away. Mark’s name would never be cleared.
I looked at the black jet sitting in the center of the hangar.
“Open the roof doors,” I said.
Marcus stared at me like I was insane. “Are you out of your mind? The runway lights are off! The tower is down! You can't take off in the dark during a facility lockdown!”
“Marcus, look at me,” I snapped, closing the distance between us and grabbing him by the shoulders. “If I stay here, I die in a cell. If I go up there, I at least have a fighting chance. Open the roof doors. Prep the catapult system.”
A loud crash echoed from the front of the facility. Frank’s voice crackled over the intercom, panicked. “They rammed the gate! Two vehicles inbound to Hangar 4! Sarah, you need to get out of there!”
Time was up.
I didn't wait for Marcus to argue. I sprinted out of the office, grabbing a helmet and an oxygen mask from the equipment rack, and ran toward the jet. I scrambled up the boarding ladder, throwing my leg over the edge of the cockpit, and dropped into the pilot’s seat.
I strapped in, my muscle memory taking over. Main battery on. APU on. Fuel pumps engaged. The cockpit screens flared to life, illuminating my face in the dark canopy.