Chapter 18 - The TarmacThe rain began to fall in heavy, blinding sheets as they approached the private airfield. The storm provided the perfect cover. Through the chain-link fence, they could see a sleek, white Gulfstream jet idling on the tarmac, its engines whining softly over the roar of the thunder.
Three heavily armed cartel mercenaries in black rain gear patrolled the perimeter of the jet.
Marcus killed the Audi's headlights and coasted to a stop in the tall grass just outside the fence. He reached into a hidden compartment in his tactical vest and pulled out two suppressed heavy-caliber handguns he had stashed away as a last resort. He handed one to Owen.
"You know how to use this?" Marcus asked.
"Point and shoot," Owen said, checking the safety.
"I'll take the three guards on the tarmac. I'm going to make a lot of noise and draw their fire toward the hangars," Marcus instructed, his eyes locked on the plane. "When they move on my position, you slip up the rear boarding stairs. You find Mara. Do not hesitate, Owen. Elena won't."
Marcus slipped out of the car, dissolving into the rainy darkness like a ghost.
Owen waited, his heart hammering against his ribs. Five agonizing minutes passed. Then, the rhythmic thwip-thwip-thwip of Marcus's suppressed weapon cut through the storm.
One of the cartel guards dropped to the tarmac. The other two shouted in Spanish, raising their automatic rifles and laying down a deafening wave of suppressive fire toward the hangars where Marcus was hiding.
This was the distraction.
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Owen sprinted across the wet tarmac, keeping low, his dark clothes blending into the night. He reached the rear of the Gulfstream just as the jet's engines began to spool up for takeoff. The pilot, oblivious to the firefight outside, was preparing to taxi.
Owen climbed the metal boarding stairs, his wet boots slipping slightly. He pressed his back against the fuselage, gripped his gun with both hands, and stepped into the luxurious cabin of the private jet.
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