Chapter 9 - Falcon Ridge
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time our unmarked cruiser slid off the unpaved access road and plunged into the dense tree line surrounding Falcon Ridge Airstrip.
The airstrip itself was little more than a desolate patch of asphalt flanked by an old rusted hangar and a solitary white Gulfstream jet parked on the tarmac, its turbine engines already whining with a high-pitched, deafening roar, preparing for immediate takeoff.
"There," Miller whispered, killing the cruiser's headlights and cutting the engine as we slid to a halt behind a row of overgrown pine trees.
Through the pouring rain and swirling mist, I could see two men in heavy tactical gear carrying a specialized medical transport case—the exact incubator used for Tommy—up the retractable stairs of the Gulfstream.
"They're boarding," Miller said, reaching for her tactical rifle in the back seat. "We need to move now before the door seals."
"Wait for backup," one of the uniformed officers in the back urged.
"We don't have time," I said, already throwing open the passenger door.
Before Miller could stop me, I bolted out into the rain, sprinting across the open tarmac toward the idling jet. The wind whipped by the turbine engines tore at my jacket, stinging my face with freezing water, but I didn't slow down.
As I reached the foot of the metal stairs, the second tactical guard turned around, shouting something over the roar of the engines and raising his arm to block my path.
I didn't hesitate. I threw my entire weight forward, tackling him squarely in the chest. We crashed hard against the metal handrail, tumbling down the bottom two steps onto the wet concrete.
The guard grunted, swinging an elbow toward my jaw, but adrenaline fueled every fiber of my being. I caught his arm, twisted it behind his back, and pinned him against the tarmac just as Detective Miller arrived, her rifle raised and aimed directly at the aircraft door.
"Freeze! Federal police! Drop your weapons!" Miller commanded, her voice cutting cleanly through the storm.
On the top of the aircraft stairs, the second guard froze, slowly raising his empty hands while the pilot inside the cockpit cut power to the turbines, letting the massive engines wind down with a long, descending whine.
I scrambled up the metal stairs, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ribs, and pushed past the open cabin door.
"Tommy!" I shouted over the lingering hum of the electronics.
Inside the luxurious leather-lined cabin, resting securely on a cushioned bench, was the medical transport case.
I rushed toward it, my fingers fumbling with the latches until the clear lid popped open.
Inside, wrapped in a warm flannel blanket, Tommy stirred, opening his big blue eyes and letting out a weak, familiar cry.
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I scooped him up into my arms, pulling him tightly against my chest, burying my face in his soft neck as overwhelming relief washed over me in a tidal wave of hot tears.
"I've got you," I choked out, holding my son so tightly I thought my heart might burst. "Daddy's got you. You're safe."
