by Vanessa Skye
Berg sighed. “How did you find me? And how did you know I’d need bolt cutters?”
“I put a tracker on your car and then waited for you to make a move,” he said smugly. “You always seem to be where the action is. And when I saw the hangar and the fence, I figured bolt cutters couldn’t hurt.”
“Is the CPD here, too?” She scanned the surrounding area, her eyes wide. There was no way she could do what needed to be done with a police presence.
“Nope, just me. Well, me and . . .”
“And?” she snapped.
“Well, Short would kill me if I kept him away from a good firefight . . .”
“Fuck! You brought Short?”
“Not exactly. Uh, I called him. We’re nearly an hour out of Chicago, so he’s still at least thirty minutes away.” He frowned at the look on her face. “Don’t worry. He knows it’s off the books! No CPD involvement.”
“There’s already two stupid CPD involvements now, thanks to you.” She snatched the bolt cutters and started in on the padlock. “Thank you. Now leave. And take Short with you.”
“No way,” he said, folding his arms and planting his feet. “You can’t take Alexander down on your own—I hear the guy has rocket launchers.”
She kept leveraging the bolt cutters as she spoke. “I can! And I’m going to do it in a very unpolice-like way, so it’s better if you just leave now. That way you can deny everything later.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“You’ll be killed!”
Arena sighed. “Berg, I’m a grown man who’s been a cop for quite a while now. I’ve got a vest on, and I’ve got more weapons on my person than Rambo. So let’s do this, okay?”
Berg scowled and stopped cutting, worried about the noise the bolt cutters would make when they finally sheared through the padlock. She peered through the crack between the door and the frame, hoping to see inside to ensure they didn’t walk into an ambush. “We’re coming in behind some supply crates, good—”
The private jet’s twin engines whined to life, and she thanked whatever God was out there for the cover noise.
She raised her voice to be heard over the engines. “And for the record, a vest won’t help. Alexander favors the head shot. He just killed his own daughter in cold blood in front of Jay and me—his pregnant daughter.”
Arena let out a low whistle. “Pregnant? So that’s why Jay stayed. Wow. And he killed her? Just like that?” he asked, snapping his fingers.
“Yep, and possibly Jay’s baby, too, so I suggest you walk away while you can. He needs to be put down.”
“I agree, so you should let me do that. You’re slow as fuck,” Arena said, taking the bolt cutters from her and working on the padlock. He sheared through the metal arm of the lock with a loud crack.
Berg caught the lock and unwound the chain as quickly, but silently, as she could to let them in. Opening the door, she checked inside. No one came running, and she nodded to Arena.
Berg slipped into the hangar first while Arena covered them from behind, and then she returned the favor as he stepped inside and closed the door behind them. They crouched behind the large stacks of plastic crates while their eyes adjusted to the light.
The hangar was brightly lit from multiple rows of fluorescent lighting hanging overhead, and covered at least eighty thousand square feet with polished concrete flooring.
They watched as goons one and two walked through the yawning front entrance. Each picked up a heavy wooden crate from a large pile in the center of the space and then walked out of viewing range. The two SUVs were parked neatly inside beside a small helicopter, which was perched on some kind of wheeled trolley.
“Bet those crates don’t have coffee in them either,” Arena whispered.
The jet’s twin engines whined even louder as the pilot prepared for takeoff, and Berg swore.
“Whatever we’re going to do, we have to do it now. You got any kind of plan at all?”
“Stay here until I give the signal. Then go back through the door, and I’ll meet you outside.”
Arena scowled. “What are you going to do?”
Berg grinned. “Piss him off.”
Sticking to the stacks of plastic crates full of safety equipment like spare inflatable rafts, exit slides, and life jackets, Berg inched closer to the front of the hangar. As she neared the pile of wooden coffee crates, she stopped, fishing a grenade out of her jacket pocket. She pulled the pin and threw it in the middle of the pile. It made a low thud as it fell between the boxes and clattered to the ground.
She quickly retreated to the exit, staying low, and quietly eased back outside. A few seconds later, she heard the resonating boom as the grenade detonated.
Fortunately, the heavy plastic of the folded rafts and life jackets provided excellent cover from burning debris and shrapnel.
They peered through the door, watching as smoldering money and shattered gun parts fell all over the hangar.
“That’ll do it,” Arena commented with a half smile.
Berg sprinted toward the jet, Arena close on her heels. As they neared the aircraft, they watched four goons, a pilot, and Alexander himself jump off the jet and head toward the hangar, guns drawn.
“What the fuck was that?”
She chuckled softly at the sound of Alexander’s screeching voice.
“Stay here,” Berg said, and Arena scowled again.
She ran toward the jet, throwing two more live grenades under the landing gear. “Run!” she yelled. “I’m not sure whether the aviation fuel will ignite or not!”
Arena’s eyes widened, and they sprinted toward the rear of the hangar, reaching the relative safety of the building as they heard the massive detonations, followed by a thunderous metallic thud when the fuselage of the jet hit the tarmac, its landing gear destroyed. They waited a few beats to see if the jet fuel would explode, but after a few moments, it became clear it wouldn’t.
They squeezed back inside and took up position behind the plastic crates once again, breathing heavily. Smoke billowed out of the wooden crates, as well as the jet, and the hangar was rapidly filling with a thick, cloying chemical smell.
“If you were Alexander, what would your next move be?” Berg whispered to Arena, adjusting her grip on the gun in her hands.
Arena thought for a beat. “First, he’s going to send at least two guards to search the hangar and grounds. He may turn on the airfield floodlights, but I doubt it. It would be like a beacon to any police choppers in the air. Second, you’ve just cut off his escape route, so if he wants to get away before the cops respond to the explosions, he’s got to use the SUVs or the chopper.”
“Exactly. The SUVs are easier and can hold cargo, but the CPD and FBI have BOLOs out on them after Alexander’s escape. The chopper looks like it would only fit Alexander and a pilot—no guards or contraband.”
“He’s going to want to keep at least one guard close for protection, or sacrifice, whichever.”
Berg looked around the hangar.
The chopper and SUVs were on the opposite end of the hangar from their hiding spot. About two hundred feet from the vehicles, near the rear corner, stood a tall scaffold with a shelf at the top. But the most direct route was entirely out in the open.
Berg nudged Arena, pointing to the structure. “Think you can reach that scaffolding and provide me with some cover fire from above? I’ll go for the vehicles.”
“How about you provide the cover, and I’ll go for the vehicles?” Arena argued.
“How about no,” Berg said, already making her way in the opposite direction. She heard Arena swear but trusted he was making his way to the scaffolding.
She retraced her steps to the burning pile of wooden crates, figuring that Alexander wouldn’t expect her to double back through the debris.
She tried not to cough as she peered through the smoke to get a fix on everyone’s locations, but they were nowhere to be seen. She hoped they had taken cover after the jet explosion.
“Now or never,” she muttered as she jumped up and sprinted the fifty feet to the vehicles, sliding across the floor on her hip and grabbing the tire as it neared. Hidden behind the rear wheel of the SUV, she pulled out her knife and tried to pierce the rubber but couldn’t. The entire vehicle was armored, and she shook her head in disbelief.
Alexander’s operation must be massive.
She turned her attention to the helicopter. She knew very little about them and had no idea how to disable one without using a grenade, but she was too close to it to risk that. Plus, she only had one left. She crouched low and ran toward the open cockpit, looking inside at all the dials, buttons, and levers. Grateful for the silencer, she did the only thing she could think of and unloaded several bullets in the console and hoped they disabled it.
Sporadic gunfire caused her to duck down as Arena fired at something in front of the SUVs.
Alexander and his men must have returned.
She heard a grunt and a body hit the ground between shots, and two goons ran around the vehicles, taking cover and searching for the direction the bullets were coming from. She climbed into the cockpit of the chopper to avoid being caught and slipped out the other side near the bare wall, circling around behind one guard. He saw her and raised his gun, but she fired first, taking him in the throat.
He gurgled then lay still.
The other guard fired as he ran around the other side of the armored vehicle, but his shots went wide.
Arena shot at the guard from his vantage point on the scaffold, and the guard had no choice but to scurry back toward her.
“Drop it,” she said, pointing her gun as he ran into view.
He tried to get off a shot, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Berg aimed at his head and squeezed, and he, too, went down.
Taking up her hiding place once more, she wished she and Arena had radios. She needed to know if he had eyes on Alexander, his one remaining guard, or the pilot. If she called out, she’d give away both their locations.
She peered under the vehicle, hoping to see feet, but there were none. The hangar was silent apart from the crackling of dying flames.
Crouched between the vehicles and the chopper, her gun ready, watching the hangar entrance, and waiting for Alexander to emerge, Berg heard another gunshot. It seemed to have come from outside, and she wondered if Short was finally joining the party. She adjusted her grip and waited for Alexander.
But he didn’t appear.
After a few minutes, she frowned and risked a peek around the back of the SUV.
“Fuck! Berg, run!” Arena screamed, giving away his position as he let off a few rounds.
She whirled around in time to see a double-barreled rocket launcher aimed at her.
Arena kept firing, but his shots got nowhere near his target as the angle was wrong.
She had a split second to realize Alexander had doubled back and emerged through the rear door before he pulled the trigger.
Foomp.
The explosive left the launcher and appeared to head toward her in slow motion as she ran then dove away from the SUVs and chopper.
The shock wave from the explosion reached her before the fire or the sound did, flinging her cap off and pushing her through the air before slamming her to the concrete floor in the middle of the hangar. Her weapon flew out of her hand and skittered away from the impact. With ears ringing, she fought to remain conscious as she lay on the ground struggling to catch her breath.
A second explosion had Berg rolling for safety as the chopper’s fuel tank ignited. She covered her head with her hands and lay as flat as she could, hoping the shrapnel would miss her, but a sting of hot metal bit into her thigh. She groaned and clutched at her leg as she watched Alexander discard the rocket launcher, pull out his gun, and fire several rounds into the scaffolding shelf holding Arena, forcing him to duck for cover.
Alexander reached her in moments, pulling her off the floor by her hair and using her as a shield, a gun to her head. “Drop your weapon!” He jerked her hair until Berg was facing Arena. “You just incinerated ten million in cash and drugs and destroyed an eight-million-dollar jet,” he snarled in her ear, digging the gun into her skull. “After you’re dead, I’m going to personally torture Jay and his family to death because of you and the irritation you have caused me today. I should have killed you and your sister at birth. I said drop it or she’s dead!”
“You do and you’re dead,” she called out before coughing through the thick black smoke pouring from the ruined contents of the hangar.
Alexander pressed the barrel deeper into her already tender skull, and she bit back a cry of pain. “Drop it. Now! Last chance.”
“I suggest you drop your weapon—it’s two against one.”
Alexander whipped her body around without dropping the gun and saw Detective Short aim his weapon.
“Both of you, drop your weapons!” Alexander pulled Berg closer to him, peeking over her shoulder as he ducked farther behind her head for protection.
The smoke was making getting off a shot for either one of the cops impossible, as their target kept disappearing.
Berg made out a black-clad shape moving swiftly toward the entrance of the hangar. Before Berg could warn Short there was another guard behind him, several shots rang out, forcing Short to dive for cover behind the crates near the right-hand wall.
The guard emerged from the front opening and fired again, forcing Short to duck once more.
Confident in his guard, Alexander turned back in Arena’s direction and ground the gun painfully into her temple. “Last warning!”
Berg struggled to clear her head. Even through Alexander, she could feel the heat of the blaze behind her, but it seemed not to bother him at all. Her head pounded and her exposed skin felt burnt and tender from the explosion. Her jacket was shredded, the weapons it contained scattered God knew where.
Berg saw Arena’s hands go up as he realized he couldn’t make a shot without running the risk of hitting Berg. He stood and dropped his gun over the side of the ledge. It was a pointless attempt at trying to save her life. She screamed as Alexander removed the gun from her head and shot Arena. She heard him grunt as the bullet hit him in the chest and then watched in horror as he toppled backward off the scaffolding, falling fifteen feet and not moving.
Rage shot more adrenaline through her body, and before Alexander could get the gun around to her again, she threw back an elbow, catching him in the chin. The gun flew out of his grasp and clattered away as she followed up the blow with a roundhouse kick to his head. But the kick fell short. She felt the skin of her bleeding thigh rip open further, and the blow caught his shoulder instead.
He recovered quickly and rushed her, tackling her like a pro linebacker and forcing all the air out of her lungs when she impacted. She couldn’t catch a breath before he was on her chest, his lips pulled across his teeth in a vicious snarl and his hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing. “What happens next is all on you, you stupid fucking cunt.”
Her head already spinning from lack of oxygen, not to mention the ringing still screaming in her ears from the explosions, she struggled to lever her body enough to toss him off her. She heard a thud and a clang as something, or someone, landed against the side of the hangar. The analytical part of her brain figured Short and the last guard were fighting hand to hand. She heard nothing from Arena.
She threw out the heel of her hand, plowing it into Alexander’s nose, but he shook it off and continued squeezing, his face a twisted mask of rage. As blackness closed in, she heard the sound of approaching sirens, no doubt the fire department coming to check out the smoke and explosions. Her body went limp even as her mind remained strangely sharp, taking in every detail of what was around her.
Gunshots echoed in the space, and she braced for the pain of the bullets. Instead, she was surprised when Alexander ducked and rolled off her like he was the one being shot at.
He ran for the hangar entrance just as
another armored SUV, a white one this time, pulled up. Alexander jumped into the passenger seat as it pulled away, tires spinning on the polished floor.
Berg coughed and retched, straining to catch her breath and beat the black back from the edges of her vision. She felt every painful beat of her pulse in her temples as the blood flowed into her head, and she winced.
A repeated banging pierced the fog in her mind, and she watched as Short finished off the guard by slamming his head repeatedly into the hangar wall until he stopped twitching and crumpled.
She forced her body up and limped over to the scaffolding, collecting her gun on the way and leaving drops of blood in her wake along with pieces of burned money, shrapnel from the chopper and crates, and gray ash.
Arena sat propped against wall, nursing an obviously broken right collarbone, his gun in his left hand. “Sorry.” He gasped, his eyes closing as blood seeped from his nose. “I’m not much of a shot . . . as a leftie.” His head lolled to one side.
Berg slapped him lightly on the face as she searched his clothing for his cell. “Stay with me.” Pulling it out of his pocket, she dialed 911.
“Let me. You’re not supposed to be here,” Short said, coming up behind her and breathing hard, before grabbing the phone from her grasp. “Officer down, officer down. Head injury, possible bleed on the brain. Hurry.” He gave them the location and hung up.
“Stay with me Arena,” Berg said as he tried to slip into unconsciousness. She knelt on the ground and ripped his shirt open and checked his vest, relieved to see it had caught Alexander’s bullet.
The approaching sound of sirens grew louder.
“Now she tries to . . . get me naked,” Arena mumbled with a smile.
Berg would have laughed if she hadn’t been in so much pain. “Trust that to wake you up. Ambulance is on the way, Arena. Hang in there.”
He frowned. “Head . . . hurts.”
“The fact that you are so thick-skulled is the only reason you’re alive right now, Arena. You fell fifteen feet onto concrete.”
