Chapter 6 - The Deadman’s Switch
“Stay back!” Serena screamed, her face contorting into a mask of pure panic and fury. Her thumb hovered directly over the red button on the detonator. “You think I came here unprepared, Victor? The entire hangar is rigged with C4 explosives. If I don't walk out of here onto this plane, this entire dock goes up in smoke—with all of us inside!”
Marcus froze, his hand hovering over his radio. “Boss, she’s not bluffing. I’m reading low-frequency radio transmitters embedded in the support beams overhead.”
The tactical team lowered their advance, holding their positions as tension reached a breaking point. The roar of the jet turbine felt deafening now, vibrating through the cold concrete beneath our boots.
Serena backed up slowly toward the airplane door, her eyes darting frantically between Victor’s gun and Marcus’s tactical gear.
“Drop your weapon, Victor!” she shrieked, spittle flying from her lips. “Drop it or I press it right now!”
Victor’s finger rested on the trigger of his Sig Sauer. He had a clear shot. At this distance, a professional marksman could end it in a fraction of a second before her thumb could depress the switch.
“Take the shot,” Marcus whispered urgently into his comms.
Victor looked down the barrel of his gun. His breathing was slow, controlled, and lethal.
Then he looked at me.
He saw the quiet determination in my eyes, the silent message passing between us: Not like this.
Slowly, deliberately, Victor lowered his gun.
Serena let out a hysterical laugh of triumph, pressing her back against the cabin door of the Gulfstream. “Smart man, Victor. Very smart. Now, goodbye, Blackwood. Enjoy the wreckage.”
She pressed her thumb down hard onto the red button.
Click.
Nothing happened.
The jet engines kept whining. The floodlights stayed on. The blinking red light on the detonator flickered once... and then went completely dark.
Serena blinked, staring down at the device in disbelief. She pressed it again. And again. Nothing.
“What... what is this?!” she screamed, shaking the plastic casing.
A slow, cold smile spread across Marcus’s face as he pulled a small electronic jamming device from his tactical vest.
“Signal jammer, sweetheart,” Marcus called out smoothly. “Military grade. You didn't really think the Blackwood security team would let an unregistered aircraft sit on our private docks without sweeping the perimeter for remote triggers, did you?”
Serena’s face drained of all color. The terrifying mastermind, the girl who had manipulated everyone from juvenile hall to high society, was suddenly nothing more than a cornered fugitive with nowhere left to run.
Before she could turn to scramble up the plane stairs, Marcus holstered his sidearm, lunged forward with blinding speed, and tackled her hard against the metal boarding steps.
The briefcase flew from her hands, scattering false passports, cash, and documents across the concrete.
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Two tactical officers rushed in immediately, pinning her arms behind her back and snapping heavy steel zip-ties around her wrists. As they dragged her up from the ground, Serena let out a shrill, feral scream of rage, kicking and thrashing until they shoved her roughly into the back of a tactical transport vehicle.
The doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice entirely.
